Flock To A Wayward Soul

Sometimes are you scared
and wish there was someone not holding your hand?

Some other place,
another day,
a dying wish not to understand.

Flock to a wayward soul,
he feeds his herd with scraps of words that he stole.
The mark of a brave new world,
where people stare and grin while speaking in code.

And now you’re okay,
self-resolved, I can tell by the way you silently sigh.
A painted sea in a rubber boat,
sail it off the edge just to float.

Flock to a wayward soul,
he reads his truth from scraps of paper he folds.
The mark of a brave new world,
where people congregate while walking alone.

Beware of the dark,
beware of the light,
beware of the dog that barks and then bites,
to dumb to be blind, too smart to have sight
too dull to be sharp, too wrong to be right.

Flock to a wayward soul
you’ve freed your herd of warmth and filled them with cold.
The mark of a brave new world,

your herd feeds you with scraps of kindness they stole.

Written By Steven W. Rouach
swrouach@gmail.com
©2018 SWRouach

Nothing.