Scarecrow

When beauty is the last reservoir,

and the hands don't reach to heaven

because the soul relives itself over and

over, peering upward from the bottom

of a swimming pool;

When the calamity and the calm of the

mind spools off the cliff and into the

wind, and reaches out for the clouds

like a runaway kite bobbing above the

horizon;

When every set of eyes looks dull and

grey, and the indigo lid of night

descends slowly on my life:

that's when I'll be coming home to you.

Yeah, I'm coming home to you, babe.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/x3pqka/labyrinth_in_my_chest/imr4bth/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/x3lv42/3am/imr3oo3/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3