The tin man sits in the rain
collecting dust in his copper cup
and wonders if he’s sane.
If you ask about his wooden axe
he’ll regale you
with enchanted stories of a lumberjack.
Down the winding road a bit
a sign blinks on and off
in a neon flit.
He’s most eager to take the trail
to wander from his living hell.
For he knows a heart would be divine
to fill his silver shell
not cast in a shrine.
Lead with purpose, strength, and momentum
his first breath of oxygen
is like finding gold in an old trash bin.
Day 5 – Poetic Asides says to pick an element from the periodic table. I couldn’t decide on just one!