purple yarn by Nate Munson

the beets are looped in grass,
the squash is on our plate,
the river runs so smooth,
while the rapids take their break.
the trees begin to sway,
at the slightest hint rain,
but there’s nothing we can do,
there’s nothing we can say.
my toes begin to curl,
when the fan is turned on high,
your heart begins to race,
when the bullets hit your thigh.
the sauerkraut,
and carrot sticks,
are never done on time,
leaving us the thoughts,
of a dream world gone awry.
there’s nothing I have heard you say,
that will take away the pain,
there’s nothing you have done,
to close this little gate.
my trust is so gullible,
to the sound of open arms,
your deception was the pawn,
that swept this poor king’s heart.
forced upon my knees,
with a trademark on my arm.
there has got to be a way,
to remove this purple yarn.