Picked Clean
Picked Clean
I've talked about the weather,
I've talked about true love.
I wrote about the locust trees
And the painted sky above.
I've touched upon the songbirds,
And river's serene flow,
And wonders of the twilight hour
And the moon's mystical glow.
I've brushed on urgent topics,
The news in alternate view
Of tyranny in government
And distress of the red, white, and blue.
I've written of raging battles
Between the good and bad
And spiritual forces in high places
That drives this nation mad.
I've written praise and worship songs
That gives the Lord God praise
While feeling quite abandoned
Through many darkened days.
I've disclosed some private thoughts
That burdened my own mind;
I've often written words on death
The only peace I find.
Today I struggle once again
On this rainy, cloudy day
With pen poised to the paper lines
To find just what to say.
I celebrate the freedom
To write the words I please
As another Memorial Day passes by
With a dank and fickle breeze.
And kind of like the vulture does
I've picked the carcass clean,
I've ripped the flesh exposing bone
With nothing left between.
The blood of words has formed a puddle
And quickly dried to black,
And if I linger in the road
I'll be the vulture's snack.
May 29, 2013
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