Saturday, August 2, 2014

cotton field

My brown eyes look upon the surrounding field.
The cotton has yet to be picked and I fear it may be too late.
In the distance, I hear an old familiar song.
The one I dreamed of last night.
The wind finds my hands and I am swept away.
I glance back and watch you standing by the pond.
Your head is down, hands in pockets.
Kicking the dust up with your brown leather boots, I feel you sigh.
The day is still.
We punish ourselves for things we cannot control.
I've dug my nails so deep into my skin, blood begins to seep.
You told me everything would work out.
I blamed you when it did not.
I fold my knees and the ground shakes as I land.
I have not deserted myself yet, for hope it will get better
One single red drop lands upon plush white.
I am still.
I shudder at your gaze on the back of my neck.
Please do not drown.
For what we have become is all but desired,
However, I hear of redemption.
You fold your hands and pray to a God I do not know.
Can you teach me?
What I had to give was not worthy of our love.
You are still.
Inside the wind I am carried to you.
Do you recognize me now?
Hidden inside all I've become.
Thunder and Heaven collide and rain falls upon you and me.
I fear you have left me alone, yet I have not the strength to seek shelter.
Then, as sweet as if all time had never existed,
The warmth of your arms and your lips on my neck let us begin again.
We are still.

Written by Robyn Hicks
poem: copyright 2014 by robyn hicks
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