Heat
The crisp brown earth sits,
Broken
Where the depths of ocean blue
Still refuse to fall.
The Weary feet tramp,
Sickeningly thudding
Hewing the broken brown flesh
To the cloudy whirlwind above
Silence’s deafening din whispers,
Broken only by the harsh cries
of long drawn out croaks,
from circling scavengers
Winged in feathered rags
With naught but breeze to relieve
the cruel afternoon’s gaze,
frying the crisp brown earth.
Copyright © The Red Rain | Year Posted 2013
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment