[ozark]

"MY EYES AS THE SCARECROWS"

The wind whispers softly, through a field of wry wheat, as summer falls,
Swifter rows of clouds, roll amidst the dry heat, as thunder calls,
But over gods bellows, i lye here, under caws,
I see drifters, flying free, as a storm of midnight presence,
They circle around like thoughts, as if bound through mid flight essence,
I see the world move aside, from the flatulant breeze,
Surrounded by shame, in doubt of my masculine tease,
The crows claws dig deep,**as they perch firm, mocking my being,
The birds words, are sharp as talons, as they pierce beneathe this heartless sheath,
Visions of my birth occurs, and suddenly its hard to breathe,
I was born of fodder, and latchkey dreams,
A black potatoe sack hat, over loose leaf strings,
This post is my crucifix, my place of seclusion,
This life is an antonym of fear, my makers state of delusion,

"MY LIFE AS THE SCARECROWS"

Like the scarecrow,I am alone and confined
The wind is my conscience, and the wheat is my mind,
Covered by clouds of chaos, as two worlds in-twined,
Rain soaked memories, greater than rivers combined,
I am secluded to four walls, window tears look out to a oceans pain,
Held captive like he, to a field of open grain,
Like His post, my crucifix is this king sized abandon,
I was born of father, to be left alone and abandoned,
I dont speake, though i seek comfort in the passer byes,
The crows are my peers, though their words cut deeper, with rasher cries,
No fear bestowed, though i stand for something,*
They tell me i am an acronym for ian, for I Am Nothing,
He *neglects the birds, and protects the harvest grain,
I neglect my peers, and yet, im left to harbor pain,
*This job holds faults, as the world haults,Is there justice in my worth,
I whisper to god, tell me, what purpose do i serve,*
Cuz at days end, I KNOW, this work is for the birds,
I AM THE SCARECROW

[ozark]

"MY EYES AS THE SCARECROWS"

The wind whispers softly, through a field of wry wheat, as summer falls,
Swifter rows of clouds, roll amidst the dry heat, as thunder calls,
But over gods bellows, i lye here, under caws,
I see drifters, flying free, as a storm of midnight presence,
They circle around like thoughts, as if bound through mid flight essence,
I see the world move aside, from the flatulant breeze,
Surrounded by shame, in doubt of my masculine tease,
The crows claws dig deep,**as they perch firm, mocking my being,
The birds words, are sharp as talons, as they pierce beneathe this heartless sheath,
Visions of my birth occurs, and suddenly its hard to breathe,
I was born of fodder, and latchkey dreams,
A black potatoe sack hat, over loose leaf strings,
This post is my crucifix, my place of seclusion,
This life is an antonym of fear, my makers state of delusion,

"MY LIFE AS THE SCARECROWS"

Like the scarecrow,I am alone and confined
The wind is my conscience, and the wheat is my mind,
Covered by clouds of chaos, as two worlds in-twined,
Rain soaked memories, greater than rivers combined,
I am secluded to four walls, window tears look out to a oceans pain,
Held captive like he, to a field of open grain,
Like His post, my crucifix is this king sized abandon,
I was born of father, to be left alone and abandoned,
I dont speake, though i seek comfort in the passer byes,
The crows are my peers, though their words cut deeper, with rasher cries,
No fear bestowed, though i stand for something,*
They tell me i am an acronym for ian, for I Am Nothing,
He *neglects the birds, and protects the harvest grain,
I neglect my peers, and yet, im left to harbor pain,
*This job holds faults, as the world haults,Is there justice in my worth,
I whisper to god, tell me, what purpose do i serve,*
Cuz at days end, I KNOW, this work is for the birds,
I AM THE SCARECROW