Good, Bad and Ugly
are like the seeds
some perfect and some distorted.
I plant them within the words;
Meaning takes shape as a tender sapling
And as a scare crow I guard it
from the questions plucking it to bareness.
I watch it grow into a tree
fluttering differently in different winds
And like me
It is bent and wrinkled on it's bark.
Taking a siesta one day under the tree
I lose myself into the meaning
adding a bitter strength to the roots
And be buried, in it's shadow.