Grey. Dark. Clear. Still. dead dragonfly on its back Dragonfly on a window sill on its back. Fly. No iridscence only brittle, grey, dark clear wings, still. And all I can manage is a poem and a picture and maybe you.
Daniel Bassill 6 years ago Permalink // Reply Is that a marcher beaten into the ground by an over zealous policeman? Or one with hopes for a different future, who finally realizes it’s not going to happen.
TERRY ELLIOTT 6 years ago Permalink // Reply Zealots. Bending over us. Grinding Our hopes down. They don’t know Our bones fertilize hope.
Permalink //
Is that a marcher
beaten into the ground by
an over zealous policeman?
Or one with hopes for a
different future,
who finally realizes
it’s not going to
happen.
Permalink //
Zealots.
Bending over us.
Grinding
Our hopes
down.
They don’t know
Our bones
fertilize
hope.