Plastic Bag
A plastic bag flies around in the awkward wind
crows yelling bloody murder in the trees
clouds moving fast like your lonely life
perfect timing, someone was coming home
put the cover on that car
you won’t have to explain after all your complaints
float because you don’t live, lifestyle as in the grave
late at night depravation chasing windmills
the black hat of worrying what people think
it's you who kept it alive spreading the contagion
Clear your throat its vile , spit it out
You won’t be satisfied by anyone again
search and you will not find anyone
this you know but you will smirk as you think you can
your fake broken heart,your creation
its not only men that can be depraved
a face like a mask to your Don Quixote task
attack the windmill but you will miss
Really Feel the pulse and force..
A plastic bag flies around in the awkward wind
with no destination....
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Comments
A gripping write..enjoyed it
Rose THANK YOU
awesome pen Mark
Lisa thank you
Really enjoyed the birth of this one Mark..... destination well unknown, yet freely blowing in the wind as though a course, well mapped to be, of a journey with no true possible means, of Determining, where his ultimate path, may finally lead him,(the bag).. Sometimes, (we ourselves), tends to feel as though in life, we, to feel the need to be free as birds. Although, when in fact a lot of us, feel as though, we have been thrust into a (Russian roulette) world wind of flight, some what similar to, your free flying bag, oblivious to our approaching obstacles, which lies, (evidently) ahead. Though we frantically continue to float along, some what blind, yet looking for a safe place, to finally land...A very good correlation, to every day life by many..Enjoyed the read my friend...Jim
Jim-thanks for great comment I am glad you liked it