Earth's Intelligence

Do not open this dirt file of
the suspended time. It reverberates
in me while standing
on the edge of a precipice.

Are you hungry of a desert
light in dark. The birds are
going to follow the sun carrying
the moon on their wings.

A dream creater stands on
a golden rock to retrieve
the archaic relic of a Desinovan
who hit the grave without shoes.

The greed ultimately takes over
the silent death.

To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.