Scrap Tavern Road
I can see a
pale green
farmhouse
against the
nearly neon
vegetation
of the cornfields.
Soybean sprouts
are shooting
up here and
there.
In this place,
there is no
existentialism
or angst
questing
against our
sanity.
There is no
god or God.
Just the cornstalks,
the soybean sprouts,
and the pale green
farmhouse
in the distance.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
