The Empty

The feeling I can't quite describe

As I walk through a field of dying dasies

Each one withering with my touch

The ground it cracks and gapes

But no water flows to what desires it

 

The sky broods and threatens

Laughing a dusty mock in the wind

 

The rivers that ran free are no more

The life it held gone and rotted

Remaining skeletons scattered

Of what was but is no more

 

The sky broods and threatens

Laughing a dusty mock in the wind

 

Hollow images of trees surround me

Bare of leaves, stripped of bark

The morning songs of birds have vanished

The night screetches run silent

 

The sky broods and threatens

Laughing a dusty mock in the wind

 

I need to be quinched, yet my thirst goes on.

 

Reviews

[mark slade]

I LIKED IT. I LIKE THE IMAGES YOU CAPTURED