Target (a work in progress)

I came across the stand of trees

On the shopping center corridor

On the way to buy diapers

I wept as I always do

The colors are so lovely

They move me in my soul

I dream of lighter days

Their delicate features

The golds and verdant colors

The painted moss

And the brushes below

Leaves rich but branches

So fragile they disappear

In the greying sky

And appear as dainty leaves

Suspended in the wind. Once a week

I come

And that copse of trees speaks to my soul

It reminds me why I wanted to paint

Of the loveliness

Still in the world

In the glare of the glowing supermarket sign

And the careless litter blowing across

The tar walkways.

It is madness

It is the dichotomy of this life.

Real and plastic

Molded steel and siding

And the brush of the heather

Sprouting up in patches

Defying logic and sainity

Grace in a post industrial world

The tears stain my cheeks

I do not belong anywhere