Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
I gaze the wheat field gusts of wind erupt and impede to the very end crows take flight towards the blood red Sun he calls them back rests his weary hands and tired eyes before the long walk into town his silhouette fades as I awaken to view the captured image that hangs from my wall
0
Feb 20, 2022
Feb 20, 2022 at 5:21 PM UTC
Wheat Fields of Arles
I gaze the wheat field gusts of wind erupt and impede to the very end crows take flight towards the blood red Sun he calls them back rests his weary hands and tired eyes before the long walk into town his silhouette fades as I awaken to view the captured image that hangs from my wall
the perfect lucid dream
RoyDeckard
Written by
Feb 20, 2022
Feb 20, 2022 at 5:21 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem