The Scarecrow Poem by soren Barrett

He suffered for his birth
Emerging from a fixed vessel
fault lines ran through his nature
Chipped and cracked but never broken,
the shadow of his being
distorted through expectation's glasses
Stuffed with straw
he broke a cobweb of pain
Standing a palm in a pine forest
unseasoned loneliness tastes bland
salted with a handful of dirt
the sun smelled cold
In the blackness of its light
came the music of silence
Nurtured by rains of rejection
blooming ignorance blossomed
bearing a thick skinned fruit of insensitivity
sprouting green over a cesspool of progress
Now sated
death drives a dusty old Ford
and hell follows in a Bugatti