Spinning Quietly in the Dark
I prefer the heavens painted
In more natural tones
Versus lines drawn by the likes of men
Dressed in tin, and leaving wakes
Over quartered land
And concrete lakes
Limbless trees, webbed in wire
Stand erect as barren monuments
Evidence of our desire
To connect
Yet we all still feel alone
Adrift on rafts we call telephones
Not calling home
1
0
0