Stacked away
in a bitter casket,
Dust, drool,
and insect drops,
Slept under
it my nylon sheath.
Oh you
mighty Earth, I screamed,
Would you
let my beholder unleash,
And free me
from captivity.
Dark and
dingy,
Crumbled up
into a bare stick.
I was born
to see light,
I was made
to smell gushing wind,
I was bent
to shield rain,
I was
clothed to embrace snow.
I empathize
with the ghastly unknown,
Also, my
apathies to its wildering confusions.
It’s just a
little too morbid,
I wallow my
content.
One is made
to embrace beauty,
Soak in
colour and lust.
I hear a
loud thunder,
I see skies
burn,
I feel the
chills,
The browny
rusty lid is torn apart.
Cold, wet,
shivery grip,
Jolts my web
into the open.
With it the
worm layer flies.
Out of the box,
I wonder,
Only this
being reality,
Strikes me
hard,
Yet I am a
contented soul,
Yet I am a
parasol,
And now I am
a happy umbrella.
