I walked until my muscles wouldn't hold
And I had turned magenta in the sun.
Each callus on my feet had burned away
Because the sand was broiling in the heat.
Both shoulders ached from carrying my pack.
I held it on the left and then the right
And back again in hopes to ease the weight.
My lips were drying, sticking shut with thirst,
My eyes were wandering without intent
Til I collapsed in this forsaken land,
Resigned to death, but looking to the clouds.
A shadow sweeps across my blurring eyes,
A shadow followed by a growing sound;
A plane! Sweet metal angel of the skies!
To carry me from this unhallowed ground!
Author notes
Originally written August 3rd '09, but I revised it today (October 13th '09)
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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A most odd, unusual, mysterious poem here done in excellent meter and without rhyme, a tad unusual for you... but no question a very, very finely done poem and I enjoyed it immensely!!!
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You really described how it must feel being trapped in a desert. Great job.
TQOP
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It was only when I got to the end I realized this wasn't a rhyming poem and yet the meter and flow are perfect. You give a very good description of desert conditions and the blistering heat and how you reacted to it very believable
The conclusion is also very authentic I like the 'Sweet metal angel of the skies'
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What beautiful blank verse: the details that you chose to describe are so effective, and so effectively done.
The last quatrain: "Sweet metal angel of the skies! " How I love that! The first line of the quatrain: how beautifully descriptive!
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Interesting ending, you surprised me there. I like that last stanza. And it's funny, the first stanza flowed so smoothly I didn't realize there were no rhymes in it till the second time I read through! I like the title too. I wasn't sure if "Desert" meant abandon or wasteland. It rather works both ways.
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What a stellar story of hope when all seems hopeless,
a wonderful metaphor for life . . . I can't wait for the day that Jesus drops a rope down from his plane
Perfect meter and flow, as always.
A beautiful poem, dear friend.
All my best,
Zach
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