Observations from the second story window

An interesting poem I wrote today- 12-20-2012

Fallen trash cans strangely resemble beached whales on a mysteriously plagued beach.

Laying there, empty, motionless on the faded street.

Lids resemble hopeless gaping mouths of many dead and soon to be forgotten sea creatures.

Leaves swivel in circles around the pavement frantically- together driven by the unseen force.

The quiet of the grey afternoon is hit with distantly growing sounds of wind.

The last leaf on a deadened tree moves frantically with the winds pull. Giving no indication of yearning for movement in either direction.

No clue as to its wish to either stay with its dead tree or be free to move aimlessly with its detatched counterparts.

The sound of thunder builds. Or is it just a trash can being rolled inside- hidden from the strangeness of the day.

The sound continues- but now it’s clear as to its origin. It is the wind grinding into this new house.

The wind, having been here forever, the house, only a recent addition to this suburban world.


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