Timber Yard

The timber dries
In the timber yard
On a hot day
You recall
The bubbling resin
And you fear
That it resembles blood

Someone had stacked the wood
In piles, on shelves, in the yard
That resembled an empty wasteland
-Not what the trees were used to

From the dead silence
You – the mourner
Leave, it was above your comprehension
You believed it was a normal thing

Author: blackbird212012

I am interested in multimedia work: songwriting, art, and creative writing. I have been involved also in theatre and music performances.

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