deepundergroundpoetry.com

They Call Him Hippie

There's earth beneath his feet.
Some say he's filthy,
but he's made friends will a life you ought to meet.

Freedom flows through locks of hair-
the only thing about him tangled.

He knows and addresses by name the stars.
He sees a world much different than ours.

In the rain he stands and welcomes trickling strands
of water to kiss down his face.
A not so illusive grace has replaced his chains
binding those who choose a different space.

His eyes, wide open,
gaze to the sky in love affair.
All he needs he finds right there-
those who don't see just stop...and stare.

They call him Hippie.
Written by prestonGibson (NomadsPath)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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