Reid@YWP

It's been two years

Since I moved here

One year

Since I called it my home

Home is the place

With more dirt roads

Than paved

And the dirt roads

Carry the name

Of your friend's grandfather

Somewhere in the summer sun, 

Where dandelions dance and sing 

Along with the bluebird’s lonesome cry, 

Alone, you’ll find me, lying there 

Between the grass seed and maple leaves, 

In a dew-drop, a little world exists 

A place turned blue and silver by the light 

That lingers well beyond the morning mist. 

In a dew-drop, a little world exists 

What used to be my everything 

has now turned into what feels almost like a burden. 

Old shadows break in the brand new walls 

The dirt projected by the naked winter giants of trees 

Stains bare wooden flesh with familiar rusty bandages 

Can you hear the roar of the crowd? 

The thousands of people, 

Kids, teens, adults and seniors. 

All screaming at the corrupt administration that we call a government. 

We will not be silenced.