Monday, July 9, 2012

Silent Moss

A large, 
growing presence as I sat ,
in the southern swamps.

Gray dripping sameness
my soul
sinking in muck.
Why cry to me, you hurricane...
or tropical storm of thoughts.

It’s not ok,
.. the oaks cried -  hush!
...but I couldn’t stop screaming
that I was sinking.

The Spanish moss
swayed ever so slightly
in the wind,
and never said a word.

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