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Image for the poem 99 Miles in a Suicide Wind

99 Miles in a Suicide Wind

Night’s umber sky will see no sun          
The sanded brown of grave stone farms            
In ochre hues trace ridgeline paths            
Ninety-nine miles in a suicide wind.            
           
In screams of crows that call the dead            
And sirens’ songs that break the soul            
Escape with only true love’s run            
Ninety-nine miles in a suicide wind            
           
With devil’s eyes and demon's calm          
That steals the past with dripping claws            
And stains the mind no tears can cleanse           
Ninety-nine miles in a suicide wind.            
           
In air that smells of battle camps            
And fumes that choke a thousand lives            
In sheets of snow like virgin ash            
Ninety-nine miles in a suicide wind            
           
To wake before its nightmare edge            
With taste of death in morning fog            
In languid voice the prayers will rise.            
Ninety-nine miles in a suicide wind.            
           
The gambles' scores are settled now  
As ghosts begin to seek their rest  
The mounds of dust are set adrift  
Ninety-nine miles in a suicide wind.
     
     
(My photo: Cleveland Ave., 10/26/17, Santa Rosa, California - that caught on fire one Sunday night in October).      
 
Written by Hepcat61 (geoff cat)
Published | Edited 27th Oct 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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