All Turns Silent in the Meadows

It was the strangest thing I saw that day. A grassy grove and a man shouting mad I didn't even know what to say. His face was dragged down by his eyebags. His feet slept on the dirt; twigs were the bed. Reaching the sky at his wrinkled fingers end Shouting "My heart is dry, so I ask from my head." "What am I supposed to mend?" "Their faces are what's left." "The iron wind swept us all in the air, and their skin was far too fair, so thin that I heard every cleft." "The shouting of others kept me awake, but now silence keeps me late." "Why must I carry this weight? Why was the wind too stubborn to eat me and mark the others to their fate?" In a blink and a bang, the man was lying on the grass. His red eyes now ran back. On his shirt were soggy sags and a wet mass. My body was left thin on red, runny grass.  Crushed by the things I kept for him. A flattened smile met my frown. As I stared at the rusty wind that took me.