Chenna Linda

cursed land

fall rain, dont stop yet
glid through my grains, your work is not done yet
reach my core
keep falling, wash away the dirt placed in me
clog my pores, drown all growing on me
dry up, just not yet
my masters blood lays beneath
slain for only four plots of me
his blood engages me in constant battle

awake, fierce orange ball
rise and heat me up
dry me up, leave me patched, leave me waste
wither all roots within me
leave them ruined so they may join me
bear down on them
spare not one leaf before you set
my masters dying words
leaves me no peace

tremble oh me
shake up their beds
dislog, grain and grain
tumble down their structures
groan until you hear them moan
groan until they take leave
for barren shall l lay
as my masters soul wanders

chenna linda

Submitted: Saturday, January 17, 2009
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