forgotten field
Walking weary night
That stalks in dank gullies
And dry sand
And waits.
Night that strays into wounded morning
Whispers black into the dawn.
Whispers into the black earth and the black clouds
And the slow black silence that creeps over the ground.
No green and pleasant land
In Night's dark kingdom.
Trees stripped and stark
Lurch out of the mud
Burning black against the grey of forgotten sunlight.
Unconsecrated and unattended,
This hill, this field
This bleeding piece of earth
This blood black desert
Land of the dead.
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Author:
markashley1961 (
Offline) - Published: January 17th, 2019 03:06
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 30
- Users favorite of this poem: Fay Slimm.
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Comments6
This is a powerful piece.
So unapologetically barren and desolate.
I know this land.
This is an outstanding write both in terms of language and construction - a powerful read.
Very strong write, this could be this earth before very long.
Loud applause for this first rate write on dark fields of lament Mark - straight into my favourites with this poetic masterpiece.
Wonderful writing. My busy mind immediately worries me that night has nocturnal life both out there in the field, hill and desert as well as within us. The stuff dreams are made of?
Wow! Very good stuff 🙂
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