Our future unfurls as a flower

Majestic in the winds of change

Proudly we vaunt our brilliance

With thin regard to genesis

High atop the lowly branch

We wave our fruited feather


In frantic quest

For path to never more

Defiant to the bitter end

We curse the journey

No consequence the mountain scaled


Was seed too small for tribute?

Was soil too vile to laud?

Was the land bereft of worth?

Yes!, we shout with fists of rage


We wave in fields as one

Beauty of a single order

Untouched by prickling thorn

Free of fettered roots

Framed in frozen image

On page of yesterday


Promise forgotten

Our petals wilt and fall


Softly uniting in umber mass

Crackling under deaf ears

Invisible to blind eye

Beneath a single sizzling sun.




About Phil

Hi, my name is Phil. I’ve managed to escape the corporate world, rid myself of excess belongings, travel the country extensively in my old Winnebago, and find a new home on a beautiful barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico. I define myself as: a free spirit, a writer, a philosophical anarchist, a poet; a lover of nature, a lover of art, a protector of animals, as well as a devoted friend and partner
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One Response to Fist

  1. I really enjoyed this!


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