He wrote too much mean poetry
and now
people don’t stop by to pay their respects.
It’s quiet.
The lonely trees look like brains, with branches
reaching-out,
trying to form connections
with the empty sky.
Tall grass has gone to seed
Fireflies buzz over tombstones
like lost souls, searching
for where their bodies were laid to rest.
They worked in the dirt, and their ideas will grow out of that
like trees
that last for centuries.
The full moon is a flashlight
until it burns out for good.
Frost creeps up on death
like a beautiful glaze
until the thaw
and the sun
open up the grave.
Words walk out of that
to wake us up
and
bring us back to life.
Intellectual Shaman 
Oooh, I like the wording and imagery on this one!
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Yes, it came from my heart or my soul. I’m not sure which one.
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Brilliant brain trees, friend. You endlessly entertain. All in awe, here.
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Hey, thanks K. Hartless!!! 🙂
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Nice exit. We all need to occasionally. It’s as unpredictable as any ‘muse’…
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Yes! 🙂
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