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Poems - some space for creative pieces

The sky is pale with anger

and hides its blue behind

a gathering of clouds

 

beneath which like ants

we scuttle and scurry

explaining ourselves.

 

Reservoirs are drained

and forests are exhausted.

In these last late hours

 

earth calls from her sick bed

broken and choking and asks us

to remember her as she once was.

 

She is whispering her stories,

shedding her secrets, crying for us

to listen as the sunlight cools.

 

In these last hours of darkness

words mutate, become extinct

and ants flicker like distant stars.

© Viv Fogel 2006