Decrepit Plains Poem by Laz Dixon

A bitter but calm wind stretches its reach among the gentle hills

Catching the long grass that wishes it could leave its past behind and drift along with the cool breeze
The wind glides past the ancient stones, now fallen, scattered and overgrown
they reminisce of times long past where they were once a strong refuge mightier than any howling gust

Nearby, Atop of the hill, the wind passes swiftly over the grave-like stumps and threads its way through the tall, thin trees who are next in line

The iced weary earth rumbles, its slumber distributed
its cold heart starts to beat and every blade of grass shivers in fear

The swift wind blows past this sacred land, unaware of the lost memories it has awakened