Apropos

He who would have nothing to do with thorns must never attempt to gather flowers. - Thoreau

in search of more

from a distant shore

my tent seemingly pitched in fokelore

in a different brandished life

i watched you from afar

bending down as you placed a single flower 'pon the grave

oblivious to the fact that you're the one who killed him

ripping out his heart and stomping on it without a care

after all, i should know

i was there

low blow by low blow

'neath the fading ritual of a waning moon's, sly afterglow

even still, even so

with my onerous soul in tow

sure as the harsh, nasal "caw" of a hungry, wayward crow

against the status quo

a heavy debt i no longer owe

money-clipped in a lush, blooming, sweet-smelling dimension far beyond you

without weeds or thorns

so apropos

Author's Note

“It is surprising how many great men and women a small house will contain. I have had twenty-five or thirty souls, with their bodies, at once under my roof, and yet we often parted without being aware that we had come very near to one another.” - Thoreau