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Scarecrow

Scarecrow
I wait and watch the sun chase the tricky moon, as nights grow longer. So long.
Who sentenced me here, to stand before the corn, living this endless trial?
What did I do to deserve this? What did I do wrong? So wrong?
How much time has passed since my exile?

The sun has its own tricks, as He closes the distance between. As days last, everlasting
there is still darkness in the daylight, screeching and circling above.
They dive through the sea of gold, the corn's attention turning away, but I am left to bask in the sun, basking.
The night's minions plague the fields more each day, bravery infecting them as they come in droves.

They steal their yellow meals, spread their glossy wings, and take to the sky, cawing at the sun, always cawing.
The surviving cobs look upon me and I return their look with empathy, hoping they can feel my sympathy.
I know that I am no god, but my purgatory leaves me crucified on this cross dying, still dying.
But for how long will I idly stand by, choking on the waves of my own apathy.

The moon's return brings about quiet night and many of it's own reliefs
And I can rest easy knowing the corn is safe and sound
I can almost sleep with eyes wide open still, but always watching for the day thieves
But I know there is nothing I can do hanging up here, so far above the ground

The moon returns to hiding as the sun shatters the dark, causing the pieces to descend to the earth, descending.
Their wings cause thunder that shakes the stalks and echoes through each row.
I stare at the cloud approaching and begin screaming in my head, frantically screaming.
I am the distraction, the thing that needs to fill their black eyes; I am what I want them to see, the scarecrow.


by KAS
posted on 05/09/2013

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Tags: extended metaphor, scarecrow
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