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[Telephone poles]

Misty Herring


Telephone poles,
tinted pink,
glinting along the narrow blue road
in the red sunshine.
Traveling through the twisted
and steep-sloping shards
of the glass that was once the window
to a mind
that shattered.
But some
beauty still exsists
in the broken mind.
The disease now overtaking
has enabled the mind to look
and watch
and take small joy in
the wind that tickles the grasses growing
in the small, fenced yard.
The mind asks no pity;
it is not afraid of being alone.
Its only grasp is the feelings
it once knew,
and is now searching for
in the petals of a dried rose.