deepundergroundpoetry.com
TURNING TINMAN 2
Years I've not moved.
Surrounded by these crooked talking trees.
Though they don't talk to me.
Since my jaw was rusted shut.
I do not need ANYONE,
until I need my oil can-
Who needs a heart...
When I've welded my fingers to the handle of this axe?.
Who needs to move?
Who needs a friend...
When every time I walk,
The hollow in me
Sounds like a wardrum
Metronome
Countdown to death?
Surrounded by these crooked talking trees.
Though they don't talk to me.
Since my jaw was rusted shut.
I do not need ANYONE,
until I need my oil can-
Who needs a heart...
When I've welded my fingers to the handle of this axe?.
Who needs to move?
Who needs a friend...
When every time I walk,
The hollow in me
Sounds like a wardrum
Metronome
Countdown to death?
Published 8th Oct 2017
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9th Oct 2017 00:50am
Until....along came Dorothy....and then--at long last--there was HOPE!
And Everyone, who has ever lived life in isolation--filled with despair and distrust....w/o human contact...shielded by their own protective armor--inevitably becomes as the tin man...invariably needing / welcoming their own special Dorothy.
the emotions are clearly felt with this one... touching deeply with a subtle sadness, and bitter longing......."disguised" just beneath the anger.
My friend, your creatively crafted metaphor of the tin man makes this one
And Everyone, who has ever lived life in isolation--filled with despair and distrust....w/o human contact...shielded by their own protective armor--inevitably becomes as the tin man...invariably needing / welcoming their own special Dorothy.
the emotions are clearly felt with this one... touching deeply with a subtle sadness, and bitter longing......."disguised" just beneath the anger.
My friend, your creatively crafted metaphor of the tin man makes this one
