The seventh from a dozen
Is about to disappear
The head has gone far
Just the rear is near
It means that you are next
Just behind the horizon
As you emerged I will watch
Oppressively
You will see hatred etched on my face
When you give you don't stop
It continues to drop
Everything comes to a standstill
You place a shroud in the sky
Eclipsing the brilliance, warm and
The beckoning of the sun
You are everywhere
There is nowhere to turn
Nowhere to run
The fields around gets shaved
Palms get swollen with sores
Eventually they give way
To thick, clumsy and defying blankets
The day of the iron man gets busier
The bellows blow more fiercely
The irons cry in anguish
The pounding of forging hammers
Intensifies
And the hot irons cry even louder
The grass gets lush
But the rush is only for the herds
Necks are bent
Like the spurs of a valley
Jaws are grinding and tails wagging
Then I hear the thunder
Coming from afar
I heave a sigh of relief
And look up to the skies
Saying thank you
For the time has come
To say Goodbye august
I am sorry that after rating my poem with a generous “10” I’m only responding now, some three years after. The truth is I hardly visit the site, and when I do the site appears so complex I cannot navigate it. I hope that as belated as my appreciation is you will find it worthy of acceptance. Thanks. Yiro
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
F..u..cK yoursef with tequilla and blues