September

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Photo by Robert Thiemann on Unsplash

Dry coastal woodlands,

Spare bird cries,

And the muted surf

 

Sounds

    As hollow,

         As the grey chill sky appears,

 

Thank god, I’ve a body,

I’m not yet a starving preta

Wildly hungering

After morsels

It can’t ever even taste,

 

I’m one with the small bird

Pecking out a meal

From the dusty soil,

 

I hunger blindly

Like a rounded worm

Squirming underground,

Seeking its living from decay,

 

I’m falling asleep,

I’m drifting off,

 

Get back up lad,

Find your footing,

Take a step,

Seek out the sun,

 

Perhaps the sky will clear

Before drear night

Carries all light away.

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