Dust Bowl 1930
It's not the heat that is unbearable
it's the dust
dust holds us away from clean air
dirt dances in and around our lungs
a choked feeling that lasts forever
mixed together, heat and dust, slows down all.
Time and space does not exist
an empty vast horizon, looms
and lulls us to make peace with the dead earth
above, the merciless sky can't be bothered to cry
I sit alone with my mind
"All hope shall not be lost"
how many more times should I tell myself?
Am I beyond it.
Do I not hear my own voice anymore?
increasing the heat of an object increases its pressure
heat of pressure rises up
then it presses down, upon us
molds us into bronze, and silver and lastly, gold medals.
those are virtues of patience and endurance.
those who do not turn into dust, turn into diamonds.
Copyright © Nancy Beckman | Year Posted 2023
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