Open Fields

Open Fields We are but paper planes to birdie wings songs left unsung battles left unwon I am but a fly on the wall watching with objectivity my words may get misconstrued But they stand in truth I hold onto the threads of my youth And those unraveling , Ripped to shreds An empty vessel Wrinkling with wear Windows mirror souls At the door The terror of night The greed of spite So I carry on As an apple of the earth Oh how we’ve grown In open fields, wildflowers bloom and weeds take root A rare breed of monstrosity In the very thread of our being I’ve awoken to the glee of canicules Sprinklers sprinkling summer fun Young lad run tracing droplets of summer sun Marckincia Jean Free Verse 10/11/2021