Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Tennessee Wheat

Every stalk sways
dancing to the push 
of a forceful world, 
blowing history,
evoking visionless traditions.
Every strand is accounted
as woven and thread, 
with security in the routine. 
I never saw a single,
individual stalk 
stand straight up 
towards the Heavens, 
or the opportunity that occupys 
the morning Sun.
All I can see 
is this ocean of one. 

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