Survive
By onemorething
- 598 reads
Sun flames the tops
of leafless trees
and breeze absent
so scalds even the stones.
Ground strained to drying
blood, ruptured,
sky cloudless, music-less;
air pulses, waits.
Here, I cannot see a reflection
of my tawny, dust-dirt face,
Martian, fixed to brace to still -
must stay still.
Salt-baked tears escape
for faults of circumstance
and time and place and
unintended loss of will.
Crouched in vestiges of shade
with my rattlesnake
who cheats me out of words,
life retreats,
grasp to last seeds of survival
as motion drains,
there will be no revival
until it one day rains.
Image from pixabay.
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Comments
Hi there onemorething,
Hi there onemorething,
I could hear myself speaking this poem in the heat of the weather we're having. Quite appropriate the lines:-
Here, I cannot see a reflection
of my tawny, dust-dirt face,
Martian, fixed to brace to still -
must stay still.
I just love the metaphors in this poem, they are so relevant...well! To me anyway.
Jenny.
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Stirred the imagination, this
Stirred the imagination, this one.
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