Thursday, February 11, 2010


Listen as:

The wind roars

Through the red

Painted canyon,

Howling against

Scorched walls

In a desperate

Search for release.

Watch as:

A setting western

Sun carves hollow

Shadows beneath

Snow tipped peaks,

A stark contrast caught

In a frozen tableau.

Smell as:

The scent of blood red clay

Stings the nostrils, a

Harsh reminder of

Natures omnipotence.

Feel as:

The cool wind washes over

Your entire being, leaving

You cold but refreshed.

Taste as:

The icy cold waters of a

Stream provides an

Incomparable taste while

Rushing to some long

Awaited destiny.

No comments:

Post a Comment