final perspective

another beating sun
pours down its heat
under an open sky

instead of cloud and rain
the air becomes an oven
for baking dirt
and me

I walk inside the blast
without a purpose
or an aim
my naked feet
seek out grass
and find it
sharp and needle hard

the softness I recall
has gone
with a season
that’s been and left

a bare and brown façade
that’s almost nothing now
but dust that rises

dancing like a devil
in brown veils
a pantomime seduction
with the power to engage me

mesmerized I see visions
of everything that’s been
of what’s to come tomorrow
and that day may never come
for you and me

in an abandoned field
of thorn and weeds
the devil-dancers dust
is king

the sun beats down
with scorching joy
that has no end
who’s to say that pleasure
ought to be denied

© Frank Prem, 2009

4 thoughts on “final perspective

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