Tumbleweed

Out of place, out of reach,
Tangled in the mane
Of uncertainty.

Torn away from what
Home, the future, was
Supposed to be.

Waiting, for someone,
Something, anything,
To make sense.

But rumors swirl in,
Then out, before they could
Ever be true.

Wondering if it’ll ever
Be seen, or wanted,
For what the eye

Will never see.