Across crooked miles

A nest in words The Reverie: Wordle Me This #3 prompt was the adventure this time.

The week has been some what exposed and left wanting now Friday’s here, though, there’s still always a poem or two to contemplate, happy reading, what ever you find.

End of day

Across crooked miles

What do you make of it, say

Redemption within what approaches

Here beneath the precipice’s overhang

Where false caverns in a strung out row

Sidle up to our backs as we stand within

Their slung shadows and orange glow fringes

To watch a slow thief stalk the valley floor below

Swallowing up vast tracts to wild greasy grass

A place where river waters once slept and woke

To notes played by changed and passing seasons

Dead, a dirt floor now vanquished by storm clouds

Painted in ill colours, towering above all square edged

Rampant in its nature, never ceasing to straddle

Spindle legs around each exposed small hill, devouring

Until nothing wild exists, to replace, with the tame

Bitter tastes the water now downstream, acid on the tongue

A liar to all who enter in hopes of something better

Filled with unbearable noise, that carries to even these

Distant miles where beauty and simpler freedoms still remain

But still we’re exposed, here in the last vestiges to our lands

Yet to be tapped by the approaching, all consuming, consumption

Is there any hope to push back for a revival, to something not set

To drown beneath what’s built, lurks in an over manufactured world

A city bent across tens, hundreds of many crooked miles.

5 responses to “Across crooked miles

  1. Pingback: A Wordy Vote #3 | The Reverie·

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