Wishing For Clouds
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Even the moon was cold
wrapped in clouds, like
an old shawl, dark, no
twinkling stars shown,
only the breath as they
walked, single file, to
where they did not know.
Past farms lit by only
what little of the moon
dared peek out, past
fields unplowed, blowing
in the harsh wind,
falling apart as they go.
To the sea, to the sea,
the waves crashing, the
storm brewing, to the ship,
to another land, tocking
and tumbling through the
sea, the moon shining on
the deck, where men dare not follow.
Single file they walk, past
houses of those gone long ago,
to the farms, to the men, to
the heat, unbearable heat,
the sun bore no clouds,
no relief as they bent,
hand picked and rough,
this land they did not
own, but had to plough.
Even the moon was hot,
sweating at night so
the air was thick with
almost rain, but not.
Sleeping outside under
the stars reminded them
of home, but not. They
toiled, they waited, they
planned, but none saw
the end of the pain, they
laid on their backs, exhausted
every night and wished for clouds.
Copyright © Juli Freda | Year Posted 2021
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