From a dream ....

Futility's Flight

Tree Swallows fly
In the veiled skies
That hides the horizon
And echoes their cries
From the tremor's destruction
With just a glance
I could smell the stench
In the crimson visions
That haunted my thoughts
And the sounds of fears
Burned within my ears
The only solace was the sun
Rising from its rest
Casting hope
Upon those left
Sheltered in the tents
Choices are illusions
Rolled atop the rumble
Or churned in soils crumbled
Survival is nurtured
By a past buried in rubble
Waiting without a promise
On a chance
That never comes
Their dreams
Are built on tremors
Because there is
No place to run
Just as the swallows fly
Looking for their home.

Poetry by melanie sue
Read 803 times
Written on 2018-05-06 at 03:21

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