I dream of rose petals instead of soaring eagles.
It happens sometimes
Turns out I am a gardener and
a bird watcher.
Perhaps it is possible to tend a garden and feed the birds.
Perhaps plants and animals are just souls to nurture
What they wear shall not matter
Perhaps one is not to be defined
By their disguise but what is beneath.
Perhaps it really is all vanity and no one is the wiser
Or perhaps I am just a hungry fool.
Could have it all and be none the richer
I am seeking your soul
Not just a picture.
So whatever pointy expressions one throws my way
Whatever sharp words they paint under my name
In confused judgment or misplaced anger
I am still complete within as without
I am a well rounded poem you see
I start in curls and end in toes
I could amaze you with saving grace
If you skipped pretense and tasted my sound
What I do is not who I am
And what I seek is the truth inside