Desert-Thoughts Poem by Gert Strydom

The morning seems lonesome and forsaken
with a silence that hangs like fog over everything,
there is almost no sound to be heard
and it's as if something unknown is outside.
Only the image of your spectre lingers with me,
while in vain I believe and are missing you,
like a ghost that can never find a resting place
where I know how solitary a morning can be.
The neighbour's mastiff just peers at me,
lies motionless at the front porch
and almost inconsolable a single dove coos
where I do now live like you want me to.
Today the jaws of dogs are silent,
somebody says, and there is nothing moving.
© Gert Strydom