The cold wind blows
the empty shell down the well-traveled road.
Bumping into obstacles makes no difference
to the empty shell, because it is hollow
And cannot feel.
The road is familiar
though there are some new twists in the path.
In spots mud sucks the shell in, threatening to consume it
But the wind dries the mud and blows the shell along.
Strangers see the shell, but it doesn’t register in their memory
because it is just an empty shell, not worth noticing.
Till the cold wind blows
the empty shell to a resting place
where the wind cannot reach.
The howling subsides,
and the shell abides
in anticipation of being
the empty shell down the well-traveled road.
Bumping into obstacles makes no difference
to the empty shell, because it is hollow
And cannot feel.
The road is familiar
though there are some new twists in the path.
In spots mud sucks the shell in, threatening to consume it
But the wind dries the mud and blows the shell along.
Strangers see the shell, but it doesn’t register in their memory
because it is just an empty shell, not worth noticing.
Till the cold wind blows
the empty shell to a resting place
where the wind cannot reach.
The howling subsides,
and the shell abides
in anticipation of being
Filled again.
© 2006 pac611
No comments:
Post a Comment