Thursday, May 26, 2011

I'm in the middle of moving. All poetry is being done on my iPhone. No proper punctuation, font choice or pics :(

You could hear the cry
For such a distance and you knew
Or you thought you knew
One person could hear mourning
One persons heard the exhaultation
Of victory, joy, celebration
As wheat brushed the farmers ankles
He stood still, this far away sound
Began to haunt him. His weather beaten skin tingled
The wind dancing to the rhythm of this distant
Celebration. The sound of his scythe brushing back and forth a futile effort to overcome
An inhabiting weight. His chest heaved
As if something sat on top of him
He felt the pressure of this new day
The distant thundering pulse of
A far away god moving near.

Out of time today, I want to make this a two parter and finish tomorrow.

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