my reservoir is dry

making a place when

your energy reserves are gone

raking the grass from weeds

empty and afraid and free

seen but not heard

exit the day same as tomorrow

ready and willing

vines of truth grow new

or a dead lawn perishable soon

In a few months a half a year gone

right when the good times start

in an instant they are gone

So in a few days is your father’s funeral

don’t want road trips for reasons like this

Red steps with blood on them I can’t see

you must heal, my dear, you must heal

About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
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