Friday, March 11, 2011

The Lumberjack

A lumberjack
Laden plaid
Above his head
A doubly sharpened battle axe

The ropes are knotted at the roots
Hands wriggling
Not going anywhere
Outside, the bustling of life
In hear I writhe in broad daylight

Fingertips encased in red
The wheel spins
And sparks condense
A whistling can be heard
Below the outsiders muffled words
A darkened boot stamps its mark
Knowing that its owners but
Delaying gratification

Then the moment comes
The shining from above
His shadow engulfs me whole
I close my eyes and thoughts drift some other place,
Ignoring the blithe descending here

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