Onion Patch

I am here beside this onion field peeling back layers I see and feel no one knows and yet, everyone bleeds a length and width and sense of need he sat there with his head bowed low quietly anticipating no need to show like those feelings I used to know when times were full of uncharted troves oh, how the road beckoned before calling teasing and we, ready to burst with hopeful imaginings jumped behind with nerves of steel steering toward some silent summon over the uneven asphalt sea when did the dream deflate and shakles bound, wrapped round your life till you can no longer breathe freedom remains some distant memory a desperate haunt of where you used to be...