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Poetry By: Jennifer Brighton

Misfit. Unfit. Extraterrestrial.

Submitted:Oct 8, 2012    Reads: 11    Comments: 1    Likes: 1   

Crop circles in the cotton field;
Intricate lies woven into white downy sheets...
Aliens amass from the lowest stalk;
Golden seed, not quite ivory
Not quite ebony;
A misfit; unfit...
But foreign, nonetheless;

Golden-bronze seed;
Belonging to the cotton,
The only mother that has ever dared call it a son;
The stifling wind, the only father it has ever known.

Bastard seed of the cotton field;
Snatched away from his mother's downy, cotton bosom...
Not quite ebony,
Not quite ivory;
Pitied and accepted,
Yet rejected just the same;

Alien, golden-bronze seed
Weaving crop circles into the cotton field;
Complex patterns, mysteriously etched into the space
Where he had lain;
Misfit; unfit...
Not quite foreign,
But neither human;

Child of the cotton field.


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