Tuesday, 18 September 2012

The Outcast...




Out here the nights grow cold

And mornings breath casts frosted murmurs 

Upon my crumpled layers, leaving me chilled.

Have you a care?

I thought not.

I am abhorred by most and you are no exception

As you walk by

Repulsed by what you see.

If you could but try to know me better

You would find inside this earthy form

A nature of such generous worth

As to be cherished,

Yet still, you choose to judge me

By the potency of my scent and the textures of my garb.

Come Christmastide when conscience stabs to meet tradition

I am allowed a moment in your shelter

Where, washed and tended, you and yours 

Disguise the horror of my presence

By feigning pleasure in delight of my attendance

But not for long.


Once season's sentiment subsides I am returned to being outcast


Expelled until such time as you see fit, 


Still, I know this


The lingering memory of my life's essence 


Will permeate your senses and disrupt your disposition for some time


Oh yes, my friend, few things are as invasive as a sprout!





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