Scarecrow

Like a lone scarecrow in a golden field of burning tendrils, mindful that he can be nothing more than the pegs that hold him up...and I am nothing more than the air I breathe even as I see with my eyes wide open to the endless skies, even though I am just as alone and as afraid tattered on the edges and frayed. If I stood there long enough, would I ever be realized or will I burn to ash with the rest of the world just as the sun sets on our dying day?

Reviews

[Ephialtes Jones]

Nice imagery and flow. I am also a burning scare crow on most days.
Well written.