The Land of Wind

trigal (wheat field)
Originally uploaded by Miguel Angel Avi

Photo Credit: Miguel Angel Avi

Under The Land of Wind the treasure lies,
Untroubled by the gathering of shrouded skies.
The lover stands and holds his hands,
Never again will he walk foreign lands.

Fingers thrust into the deep,
Black nails where beauty sleeps.
Soil caked hard with the baking sun,
Tears slip away, leaving him numb.

He hears the ticking of the body clock,
It stills his mind against aftershock.
He turns for a moment and is swept away,
the battle leading him to the appointed day.

Mike French
Sept 07

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