Lengthy fingers attached to a shiny pen
Green sunken eyes and a tense connotation kept hiden
By a tattered flannel which carried holes and was accompanied by
Old brown pants and black boots
His chiseled jaw shadowed by 5 o'clock,
his red brows pull together and his hand waivers over the
Chaotic materials spread about the picnic table
Each note book more challenging in physical appearance
As they lay about surrounding his new found work
His back stiffening straight before his glossy green eyes find mine starring curiously
The wrinkles on his face pull into a small smile
His mind seemed so quiet
But his page grew fiercely with words
Before I sat back and breathed in the mornings air of mildew and coffee.
From Yours, Truly~
By Clarkiemonstr
I write to those who have been slapped with a diagnosis label, and fitted into a pill bottle that is rumored... More