As I fold into myself I think of the rains of summers passed
The sunlight of winter has come, a solstice of soldiering on
As fear envelops a future that has yet to emerge
Convincing the conditions are set for a battleground
Standing at the edge of twilight, casting shades of anger felt
I promised to love that which is forsaken
Because what was spoke has fallen on deaf ears
Blinded by the glimmer of dry wells, I doubt this
Drought will lift; the sands of time swirl and convulse lies
That mask themselves as dribbling tears
Withstanding the torrent. Arms crossed and on bended knee.
Windmills lining creeks made from mouths
Acting like these gusts are sourced from thirst
Only to find a tree alone in a field;
Clouds approaching mired in grey and white
Sight lost behind these terrestrial woes
I cast my love as I cast my fear.
Away, away, the vultures shall not win.