Comes a Wind
Thirsting, thirsting. . . shriveled earth
suffocates in summer’s dearth,
yearns for rain clouds’ forthwith bursting:
Shriveled earth. . . thirsting, thirsting.
Browning, browning in their beds,
flowers parched hang low their heads.
Daffodils once bright are frowning
in their beds, browning, browning.
Dying, dying – every field,
withering, to fate must yield.
All the world is sadly crying,
every field – dying, dying.
Whirling, whirling, comes a wind
arid and undisciplined.
Stagnant heat, pent-up – unfurling,
comes a wind, whirling, whirling.
Whipping, whipping through each plain
(while ignored are prayers for rain),
final blows come swiftly ripping
through each plain, whipping, whipping.
Burning, burning. . . August’s lust
leaves us nothing but the dust.
To dust we soon may be returning:
August’s lust – burning. . . . burning.
An oldie poem of mine that fits my feelings on how the earth
is responding to mankind's disobedience. I hope the world
awakens to the evil around us in time to negate this fate.
For Unseeking Seeker's 'Soul Betrayal ' Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
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