Dried pods rattled in the breeze,
such a hollow sound,
echoing deep emotions
and driving a sigh from my lips
as I stretch in the dim glow
of early morning.
I pull on my old white shirt,
a dingy color
much like the lightening sky.
Stained and torn jeans follow,
the jagged edge of a rip
rubbing against my callused fingers
reminding me of work ahead.
I frown at the sight of my boots,
crusted with mud,
a chore that lies ahead
and a longing for a day without shoes.
I feel the flakes of dirt
when they stick to my feet
as I take to the kitchen
grabbing coffee and biscuits.
Breakfast in the field,
lungs soaking in the cool air,
watching the moon as it tried to hold on.
A losing fight
much like my own.
The moon peeked between skeletons
of plants past.
The song of death sang once again
as the breeze cut it’s path.
I swallowed coffee
letting the bitter taste
and hot water
replace bitter
and burning memories.
The sun was soon to rise though
and I had life to live.
Like a switch,
my hat slipping on my head
tucked away any distraction,
and I was whole again.
I gave a last glance to the moon,
tipped my hat
to the light that fought the dark.
previously published in the HoCo Poetry Project. link here: https://hocopoetry.wordpress.com/2013/12/27/image-8/
