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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic



My mind is nothing but a tumbleweed.

A tangled mess of some branches and thorns

That is far too easily misguided

By winds that only distract and destroy

And leave it more confused and more alone. 

My tumbleweed is inconsequential.

It can do no good, it can do no harm.

It looks big, but it is mostly empty.

Try as I might, it cannot stop rolling. 

It mostly travels by night with the moon;

Bickering, laughing, and falling in love.

I'm a mad tumbleweed! No name, no soul,

And I've got no particular place to go!

Submitted: August 06, 2020

© Copyright 2022 Kit Wiley. All rights reserved.

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88 fingers

Tumbling tumbleweed. Very well written.

Thu, August 6th, 2020 3:44am

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