Friday, July 4, 2014

Blood Reds, White, and Faded Blues

Dry be thy name
And Dry be thy manner
Life's fine balance tips slightly
On a thorn's brutal point

As the sun rides low on the horizon
It fills our eyes with brilliant fire
Before dipping to rest
Behind hills now standing in the way

This Heat
This oppression of flow
Rubs hearts and hands raw
Removing layers down to deep blood reds

Revealing runs of quartz in the veins
And ant catacombs within
Fissures deepening under pressure
Returning again to the cracks on the surface

We feel it in our bones
Brooding across the plains
Rising up to cleave rock from its hold
To remnants and discards left behind

We sit and wait
For shade and dusk
Bound up and tethered down
With a wrapped up frown upon it all

Then sunset drips into night
As the night drips into dew
Again and again and on
To bring a little hope each morn
For this season to turn anew

But we're shown this is just the beginning
As the dew dries whitewashed in the faded blues
Of mornings in June and denim worn through

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