Doe.
That’s how you see me.
From a far off distance you see this
Doe.
Calm,
Bright eyed.
But wary.
Ready to jump at the moments second.
But if you got up real close.
Real tight in close you’d see.
This doe
She’s got tares in that fur of hers.
Bullet holes that ripped right through.
Scars of the massacres she’s witnessed and just narrowly escaped.
If you look real close
You’ll see the knife mark on her throat
The moment the boy hunter hesitated
And she, not fully dead
Rose like Lazarus to fight another day.
Yeah she’s skirting the tree lines
Scoping out the meadow before she dare enter
But she’s still moving.
Still licking the scars and scrapes she got out of.
But all you see is the doe.
The doe that so kind so gentle so caring
Appears before you.
But I wish
I wish you could see up close.
No comments:
Post a Comment