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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4183 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention The Stranger Shall Swallow It Up Paul Lyons It has the taste of sorrow drawn from bitter roots. Across this arid field I find no stem, no stalk that rises by inches each day with rain and sun. No lamentation to the gods will grow the bud, another promised season on this land. The wind has risen in the west and I will yield to the coming waste and famine, let the hunger wash across my frame. No grapes, no meal to fashion bread, no oil to anoint your feet. I touch my palms and call for dawn to come. |
