A door has shut without recourse,
now flung aside I bleed out red
my footing gone, my vision’s fled
unseen by those without remorse.
Each painful breath inflames my heart,
I try to speak but silence mocks
as spastic legs and crooked socks
deny my dreams now torn apart.
Land Of The Living Skies
Rolling prairie is not barren tundra,
devoid of life be it flora or fauna.
The vast open grasslands beckon
calling to the wild inside us all.
Gopher heads peer out from holes,
watching antelope jump and play.
Buffalo roam the open country
or hunker in tree-shaded sloughs
of orange and red
flicker, twist, dip, and bow in
tiptoeing on edge as
in staccato fashion
crackles, pops, and snaps
punctuate the ancient dance
mesmerizing human eyes
unleashed microscopic menace
from virus to pandemic
media spins its dire warning
while leaders put the world in
Trees skeletal and still stretch skyward
like sentinels watching over the land.
White clouds cover the living skies as
a breeze kicks up whispering its warning.
Survival: A Poem
A piercing cry
commands my attention,
eyes alert and searching through
the snow-framed window pane,
along sleeping branches
blanketed in frigid white,
rocked by arctic wind.