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
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