Looking across the field
The white flowers sparkle with hope
Against the burnt grasses of summer
Church bells ring in the distance
The kettle drum of my heart
Thunderously jumps out of my chest
The oboes prick my anxiety
I can hear the grass rustle
As my feet path the field
Such disparity
And yet such symmetry
I wonder if someday soon
My burnt red blood will enter
The soil here and pigment
The radiance
No comments:
Post a Comment