deepundergroundpoetry.com
Reaching
For my friend.
He sits in a desert,
Arid land air
Filling lungs.
Each heavy pull
Constricts.
The anvil of despair,
Crushing.
Taking him, out
Of his mind.
A western wind
Carries cool touch,
Ocean whispers.
Caressing his soul,
Quickening his fire.
Bringing him back,
Back
Back
Back home.
He sits in a desert,
Arid land air
Filling lungs.
Each heavy pull
Constricts.
The anvil of despair,
Crushing.
Taking him, out
Of his mind.
A western wind
Carries cool touch,
Ocean whispers.
Caressing his soul,
Quickening his fire.
Bringing him back,
Back
Back
Back home.
Published 29th Apr 2015
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likes 4
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comments 8
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29th Apr 2015 9:17pm
30th Apr 2015 3:06am
29th Apr 2015 9:25pm
The first stanza is one of near despair, the second contains hope. He's losing his mind but then the western wind picks up, just strong enough to assure his return home. Fine work from a fine friend.
30th Apr 2015 3:07am
Anonymous
- Edited 25th Sep 2020 3:45am
29th Apr 2015 11:40pm
<< post removed >>
30th Apr 2015 3:08am
Anonymous
30th Apr 2015 3:20am
this western wind is like my north star. always offering hope in hopelessness. well done, looloo. very well done.
30th Apr 2015 3:25am
