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.