All That is Left

[Delta40]

After a childhood of see-saw rides,
a youth spent with spiders from mars,
all that is left on the grassy bank
is a pathetic bygone rebel,
rockin' n rollin' without motion,
his beard grown wild
like a thicket of thorns,
a gaunt shape laid out
as if awaiting the arrival
of the devil's own vultures.

C'mon. Take me right now why dontcha?

Yet fresh spring blown seedlings
settle and nest in his hair
while the caw of magpies
shred his last brown paper bag
to nature's own rendition of Last Farewell,
as sprays of daisies croon,
For you are beautiful
and weave their magic round his temple.
But all that is left is a man on the bank
cursing the mourning son.

Jesus Christ! get outta me face will ya?

[cacian]

Very beautifully written and I like the italic interruptions...it makes the poem come to life.
An interesting twist.
I enjoyed it thank you.

[Delta40]

Thanks Cacian. I'm not entirely pleased with this piece atm. I wrote it late last night, in between yawns and... (hang on that's the line to my next poem!)