Poetry Passes The Time Quite NicelySeptember 04, 2012
I am nearly twenty,
not yet an old crow, but rather,
the ripening fruit in which it pecks.
Yet, fruit decays sitting idly in place
never bothering a soul.
So, here I wait
for an eager hand to pluck me from the
sheath of fleeting adolescence
or for the turbulence of tragedy
to steadily shake me loose
from where I hang
so comfortably still.