Desert Night
Bitter wind-whispers echo loneliness
Whistling their derision through the scant grass
Their cold unconcern slices through parched skin
Leaching warmth with each sabre’s pass
The red dirt hides its mineral wealth
Deep below the flint-hard face
No quarter will be given in searing day
No comfort lies in the night’s embrace
But if you wait until the sun sets
Above the hush of the fleeing heat
Listen to this barren desert
Hear the plea beneath your feet
Though its heart sneers at your frailty
Mutters impatiently, finding fault
Its hatred comes from heat worn years
Spilled hope lost with each weary jolt
Perhaps one day gentle rains will come
Compassion soaking the drought-stiff ground
Sprouting beauty in delicate colour
As seeds of new life and hope abound.
5 comments:
Its hatred comes from heat worn years
Spilled hope lost with each weary jolt
to me these line really help us understand what brought this about....and that makes it human...
The "sabre's pass" of wind has an interesting effect, putting the desert into a human scale of history (compared to say the millions-of-years approach) at the same time as it allows the narrator to maybe be in the past too. In other words, that little phrase hooked me quick!
souls for sure can be sad deserts at times...absorbing eagerly each drop of freshness esp. when they are worn from years of heat...i love that you end it with a hopeful note..
some thought provoking lines are crafted in your piece here, love the title and the whole setting.
a very enjoyable read.
Brian, thank you for stopping by again. I always appreciate your insights.
Kathy - ooh, that is exciting - I never considered that aspect, it was just that sabre seemed the most appropriate weapon. Amazing what the subconscious does at times!
Claudia - yes they can, but I really do believe that where there is life there is hope, no matter how dry and dusty. :) Thank you for stopping by.
Orange - thank you too. :)
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