Not entirely left or right, this or that.

Confused somewhat

of damaged flesh,

staying now with the old ones

my heart has been around.

I stand, a stranger at the edge of the door.

Wondering who can understand

My little estate is a comfort

I look at the cold earth;

I look at those who come before me ,

I am a scion, a chip off the old block

Not one or the other

Contains me.


About m.a. wood

writer, thinker, musician, teacher
This entry was posted in poem. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to scion

  1. Dawn Deevy says:

    A scion and a mighty oak

    Liked by 1 person

  2. amabear says:

    this is cool.


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