Sunday Whirl

Far From Home

I sit among the ruins

Crumbled, rotted, waste

A metallic taste in my mouth

As just before throwing up

The staccato beat of my heart

Crashes loudly in my ears

A dart is thrown

Seeking a target

I am in exile

I walk the desert

Lift the latch

Reveal the scar

The wind throws a billow of sand

Before me

Dirt devils give a petulant twist

Light fuses

Set fires seen in the distance

I accept the present without rebellion

The future is dubious

16 thoughts on “February 4, 2012 Sunday Whirl

  1. The vision of ‘petulant’ dirt devils reminds me of the cartoon of the tasmanian devil, who always showed up in a small tornado of dust. I always look forward to seeing the pictures you choose to go with your poetry.

    margo

  2. Annell, I, too, like “petulant twist” – and the last line is perfect. It called me back to the title; the title and the last line work so well together.

    Richard

  3. Sorry I’m so late to the parade. I like the manner in which you used the wordle words. And thanks for visiting my site. Dubious is a good word to ponder,

    Elizabeth

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