Threat of morbid skies

Grey beast ails

Storm swells in the irises

of forgiving eyes

marked by tired begging

and chosen letting that

another day go by

without the gift of a

scarlet swept sunrise

For not misery

but a life led

by the beat of

empyrean’s drums

Great earth beneath

his sore calloused feet

the livelihood of generations

of sky watchers and seed sewers

devout to the uplifting of live things

Scarred as the scorched earth

by high noons of midsummer

Bogged as the furrows

that pool with a years rain

in three weeks

Still his heart is light

and head is clear

free from the burden of

sullen speculation

Somewhere between

triumph and disaster

he braces for the graceful wrath

the wake of a steely beast