it will sound like a goose


Mizpellt wurdz

where are the herds

the wild wolves that would massacre this hopeful innocence

still hopping into each day

the maddening light that cannot reach the deep breath of the forest

everything has been cut down and domesticated

even the spring has a plan nowadays

for what will grow when

it will be you first

away from me

in the direction of the tiny things that have learned

there is no such thing as a small happiness

and how to walk

until they reach the waters that once held them

that is them

and that will accept them again

despite the dirt

that tells them that they are truly the earth

the whole

then i will come

a little late and with blood on my shirt

mistaken for ketchup

with a dream of being able to cut everything in half

if only to show the people that the wolves

are still…

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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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