Red Out

Eyes on the horizon,
watching, waiting, wishing.
The sky darkens, 
flooded with tiny bits of earth,
choking out the sunlight, 
breath by breath.
Rolling in.
Sadistic in it's approach.
Demonic artistry.

Behind closed windows,
locked doors, cloth covered faces,
fleeing like ants from a flame.

Inside, they wait.
The howling begins small and low.
The tiny tinkle of each grain,
increasing to vociferous bedlam.

Dust permeating every little crevice.
In your eyes, nose, mouth, 
hard to see, hard to breathe.
Lay and wait for the blow by.
At times, begging for relief,
or death, just to pass.
Coughing up the land 
beneath the feet of Moses.

Dreaming of bright blue sky,
more sand with every breath,
wet cloth covering,
a struggle just to breath.
Tedious suffocation,
mind racing, rambling.

The will to survive.
Slowly, miniscule grains crash to the surface.
Tiny beacons of sunlight, growing slowly,
becoming a firestorm.
then...All is clear.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace