The grass overflows and overgrows,
Wild, free,
Too small for me to hold.
The darkness of the sky,
Accents the freedom in me,
the illusion of the rules,
And the softness in me.
Clouds, stringy, yet growing,
float wildly, most options open,
hoping, moaning, gathering together,
The one option not open yet,
is to rain, for that they were framed.
And I am the purpose giver,
The reason maker,
The Sun of this scene.
The grass want to grow around my feet,
I let it, at my discretion.
The sky attempts to make me small,
But it's only power,
Comes because I'm here.
The clouds only want to rain on me.
Author notes
topic pic: http://lightbulbstudios.deviantart.com/art/fence-96856168
A contest entry
- A whole different contest (CLOSED NO MORE ENTRIES ACCEPTED) by takemypainaway.
360 points, ended September 15, 2008, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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