lonely puddle

lonely puddle on black asphalt

nothing more than a facade.

where is the place from which I

came?  Where flowing freely I am

looked upon in wonder.  Where

moving machines trample

me not, but kingdoms of life

reside.  Where once natural creatures

found delight but now pass me by

without a thought.  Empty

as those machines by their hands made

in vein.  Where do I belong in

this dying place?

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Published by: katybeth

From North Dakota, living in Kentucky, attempting to exist in greater touch with self and earth and others. haha. To be honest, I take things too damn seriously.

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