Saturday, January 10, 2009

Sharmagne Leland-St.John

THERE WERE DRY RED DAYS

There were dry red days.
Devoid of clouds.
Devoid of breeze.
Sound bruised
My burning bones.
Dirt cracked my hands
And caked my cheeks
No buds on limbs of trees
No birds on branches
No hope of rain
Scrawny chickens
Kicked up dust
Scratching for food
That wasn't there.
In the stifling, stillness
Of the scorched night
We dreamt
Of cool oases
Tropical isles
Emerald bays
Not these dry red days

1 comment:

  1. Sharmagne, the pain the earth experiences transfers itself to animals and humans here. I wanted to see some shred of hope, but didn't and sometimes that's the way life feels. In your words I can feel the dry breezes and dusty earth that I've often experienced. (yes, I like it)

    Chelle

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