Thursday, June 3, 2010

the final march

Groves of trees, green for miles.
No mountain ridges to depict a location.
Easily lost for miles with anticipation of obtaining freedom,
however finding only pine cones resting in the sand.
Humidity in the air—
pollen dropping, creating a layer of yellow dust
similar to volcano ash over Washington state.
The heat builds up internally,
and eventually the eruption creates a noise,
echoing for miles across vast plains.
Marching toward silence with sore shoulders,
but enjoying the volume today.

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