In early morning light, temperatures starts to rise,
On raven wings, I dreamed I could fly,
Summers heat making the image wave,
Over land that workers spent their life to pave.
Not a single thing remained green,
No place to rest, no songs to sing,
Watching the heat ripple and writhe,
I felt the ground so far below was as a tide.
I searched farther to find my rest,
And I looked so far and wide,
Only thing moving in emptiness,
Was the waving earth tide.
Comments about this poem (desert by Matthew Moser )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings