What May Come

A short absract poem about waiting to die...alone.

Dry and dusty was this land of his fate,

always with less to give and more to take.

 

He peered down the dirt road, this one-road town,

waiting to depart, one last look around.

 

For those passing through this said arid place,

pathetic scratch on earth to somewhere else.

Though, in the distance, t'was no rising dust,

he knelt heavily on that filthy crust.

 

Then that sound came, 'fore it crested the rim,

coming down that dirt road, coming for him.

 

‘Twas that town he left behind on that day,

as he then rode that road, so far away.

Copywrite©2012

All rights reserved.

Barbara L. Brown

Author's Note

Awards:

Walked Away Again Contest 2nd Place

Reviews

[December Blaize]

This is absolutely beautiful. I love the sound, and how it leaves you satisfied but wishing it went on. I can see exactly what the speaker sees as I read. Great write!

[luna11]

This is a lovely poem, I really like it.