An endless field of wheat,
In the skies of blue,
Beneath the rising sun,
An idea had occurred to her.
Running past mazes of corn,
The temperature had dropped,
She had to tell a soul,
Of a dream she had.
A vision so marvellous,
It was beyond euphoric.
By the river, she stumbled,
The water had begun to erode.
She had to tell a living soul,
Of her words of passion.
She raced past tall canyons,
Avalanches of red and grey.
Someone yet to pass by.
Her dream is a distant memory.
She has yet to find anyone.
In her old age,
She had taken a rest,
Disheartened by circumstances.
Looking to the black sky,
She wept from loneliness.
Even when the soil had come for her:
Where her carcass laid,
One plant had sprouted.
It hung onto dear life,
In hopes of finding a soul.
Did her dream die?
It did.
About the Creator
Lovely Lucia
An archive of my stories I publish every now and then.
To the people who read my poems and short stories; Thank you!
Keep reading
More stories from Lovely Lucia and writers in Poets and other communities.
Violence Begets
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl6 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.