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20
May 27, 2019
I yearn in the fields
as I relish in my sins
Pricked and pulled
Beaten and thrown
Malnourished and dazed
My figure distorted in a crowd of gold
the sun gazes upon me, unable to help
The wind carries the whispers of my distress,
and perhaps the whispers of my dreams
Dreams of a land far off where screams die
And the fields beneath me
Aren’t soaked with my blood
Yet there is no wind,
And the sun oblivious to the haze
Of my life
And of my marriage
© Eileen M., Milford, CT
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