Early Autumn

         

          Under a Mountain

          I found a pine cone

         ,broken but not yet destroyed

          I had been there in the

          wake of the morning in the

          burnt grasses among the fallen trees

         when I glanced

          a husk

          a studded shell, as dull

          as the pouring sky

          it seemed crusted

          but the birth of nature does

          seem hopeless and tainted

          from years past

          I run my finger tips

          inside the crevice

          among the imperfections.

                   

          except for the missing crown

          which seemed to be misplaced

          which can be found within the mind

           where, periodically

           my sanity and well being,

           tear me to pieces.