House of Heart

Broad faced sunflowers bow compliantly.  Sheepish clouds float above  withering fields of overripe fruit awaiting winters burial.  Lungs bursting,  my eyes a salty sea,  I am  racing through seasons folding one onto the other like a bewildered child escaping the night.  My throat is  a choke of blood stained words  I want to scream to the universe, wait for their echo back, but the earth is too tender to endure this despair.  Reality has lost it’s grip, it hurts to fall into the truth,  it is here I learn the meaning of used. There is nothing I care to do about it.

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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