Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 28
Clay baked, brown, red and white
In white hot heat
Points to sky, raincloud free
And sinking off into the hills
It goes on and high.
Weak legs on strong lines
Chalked toes and dry mouths,
Breaking their belief
Shattering the smitherins into the atmosphere
In hope the gods will weep.
Watched a documentary about the Nazca Lines, and wrote this. It doesnt do the beauties justice.
Written by
Lily Priest
151
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems