Thompson+Kyle

__ Scarecrow __ By Kyle Thompson I'm not like the farmer; productive, admired. I'm not like his son; so handsome, desired. My purpose in life is so different; so strange. To keep free from predators all throughout the range. Respect I don't have, though; just an instrument for fear. To frighten off marauders; threats, far and near. My purpose in life? Such a mystery to me. I'm just a torn scarecrow; despondent, you see? The look on my face may seem dejected, at best. But a heart beats for life, deep in my straw chest. What is it that makes you run far, far from me? Is it the ragged clothes on my figure you see? I'm not who you think, I'm more than these clothes. I'm more than a man; looked down on, and loathed. I'm not what you think, but it matters to me. That you know I'm more than a sad scarecrow, you see? I'm loyal to my post, through the wind, lightning, and snow. I'm cursed to live this life; this only life I'll ever know. I long for the comfort and warmth of the sun. I long for the love and the embrace of anyone. I long for a life where I'm productive and admired. I long for a life where I'm handsome and desired. A life most appealing, so suited for me. A life beyond that of a scarecrow, you see?