not in my lap
but upon my head
the structure pillars walls
not in a pile
in disastrous wreckage
the former ceiling
now was strewn
unable to be reconstructed
were blown away
I stood unprotected from scorching sun,
like one lonely tower left, tossed by the wind.
Glancing once at my tattered rags,
the last but for my tousled hair-
Glancing twice at my rapid hands,
known to desperate mend repair-
I shredded the last of those covering cloths,
ripping, destroying, and flinging them off,
and I cried, “Here am I”
2 thoughts on “desert”
I love the shape of this, as well as the poem itself!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much, Chris! I debated some different formatting options, so that’s good to know!