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2/3/2019 3:04:31 AM

Jack Webster
Posts: 255

Wooden lines nailed together,
sharp points hammered
home with an iron-minded will,
(each strike rhyming with the last),
passes for a soap box,

one on which the author stands,
proclaiming what he understands,
what justice and dignity command,
the wisdom that will save the land,
and trying to fit the sky in his labor-calloused hand.
It is attention he demands.

How well such kindling burns.
He never feels the fire.
He doesn't hear the silence,

and no one knows who smells the smoke
rising from forgotten nails.
edited by superlativedeleted on 2/3/2019

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