PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

This is not a landscape I would abuse.

Its uses are probably infinite,

marred only by the limits of my mind.

Time's good eye would cast a bleak, doubtful glance

towards me, or any man with torch held

at a lilting or menacing angle.

Here is but one, unforested canyon

that bulges over a bare horizon

and it calls to me by way of mirage;

shivering and quivering in tandem

with the day's heat, whilst modest twin peaks rise

intermittently with each chilling gust.

Thick and pallid reeds sway impotently,

protesting their anchorage and station.

They form a brilliant, patterned sheen when splayed

to greet the atmosphere's indifference.

The whole of these great, rolling plains fears light,

and silently requests a canopy

to form as a barrier against they

who would reap without reciprocity.

Its wish is granted by a great cocoon

dyed a gravel-borne grey and draped in swathes

across this bare beauty, now barred from sight.

And only in the trenches of midnight

can the silk be unraveled by the moon,

familiar as he is with this great tract.