Wind wallops the reeds across the wide
grey water. There is nothing here to stop
its onslaught, nothing to make its rage
die down. These are the flat lands, peat and poor
grey sand in equal measure, soggy, soft,
without a backbone. Here no rocks will show
through tough, coarse heather, here no snow remains
high on the hills. The faintest rise is far
removed from these pale fields where life transpires
to be as flat, as even. Measured, cold,
the morning opens, and the evening shuts –
this is no place to be. The ragged clouds
hang low above the uneventful soil
that harbours no surprises, heights or lows
and nothing stirs except the wind's turmoil.

Report Story

bydemure101© 3 comments/ 1586 views/ 0 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

1 Pages:1

Please Rate This Submission:

Please Rate This Submission:

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
Please wait
by Anonymous

If the above comment contains any ads, links, or breaks Literotica rules, please report it.

There are no recent comments (3 older comments) - Click here to add a comment to this poem or Show more comments or Read All User Comments (3)

Add a

Post a public comment on this submission (click here to send private anonymous feedback to the author instead).

Post comment as (click to select):

You may also listen to a recording of the characters.

Preview comment

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: