Uncategorized, Writing

The drought is hard,

Soil that once bore the fruit

and fed the thirst of spreading roots

now charred, sand and ash,

A cancer spreading through the plain,

Dancing on the burning graves of

those that seek the weeping rain,

Drown them, flood their wounds.

Resilient, he stands, 

Leather skin with arms of spears

and pride to fill the space of fear 

ravaging the lands,

A warrior bound in blood

and mud to these barren sands,

Waiting for the night to call,

The pale blanket of moonlight’s shawl 

to hold it,

Hand in hand.


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