The land

The drought has been here so long
that the soil no longer repents and has
ceased worshiping all together. Without
the ease of rain the people are cold
and scared. They take refuge by night
labour by day. The people believe
that pours are meant to sweat
no matter the fruit. Sweat will
break the curse. It has to.

In another land, a blessed land, the river
is above the banks: men, oak and maple
have grown tall. Fields are ripe and
the soil is Godly. Prosperity is viewed as
possession. It’s often ignored, like the sun
and the stars. The people don’t look to
their left or to their right, only to the
North and the South.

Mountains and miles separate
dust from beach. Damned
grey distance of apathy and
ignorance. Look to your left
and to your right! And please
take refuge from the drought.