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Golden Train
October 5, 2010
as I look down below
from above the blue skies,
there sits a majestic place
terracota and dry.
Where the Mountains speak
and the crispy Grass moan,
where the Pebbles envy
and the Sun bleaches bones.
As I fly to my nest
in the hard golden sea,
not another soul lurked
but dead Men and dead Trees.
Where a sense of adventure
lies deep in Her breast,
the unknown who have tried,
lie in this Hell to rest.
© Michelle B., Blairsville, GA
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