The Humdrum~ Poetry

Won’t you celebrate with me?

This ethereal being that has awoken

As the blood from my fingertips flow outward into craft

And the callouses build on my feet

They laugh at the moon shine on my base.

As the cellophane lines lengthen into branching rivers

and divulges from the darkening mountain that holds my crown high

I cried for you.

They’ve belittled the tree branches as the grew over hills and valleys

And turns plains into inconvenient bumps.

You glower down at me, disappointment fills the hazel moonbeams

Instead i see dark brown of bearings on different bodies.

It consumes

It grows and grows and wants to be filled but it never stays full

Always half empty

Never half full

The hole stares at me and grins crooked and wide tooth.

The hole whispers…

“What did I see to be except myself”