Far From Home

Today no words rise from
this dirt, this soil so
cold and damp and English;
As I write beneath the clouds
in greyed light, my verse
basks in the midday suns
of Chilean fields.

They take residence in the earth,
Whispering tales to the winds
in hope that I may learn;
And learn from them I do.
My ears ring with Latin tongues,
Line after line of love and
a song of despair.

Through me they find a voice,
Stuttered and broken but
true and powerful as before;
The ghost of Neruda at my left
guiding the hand that
records the messages from afar,
Returning the calls from home;

An image painted on pale
shadows above, in vivid colour,
With prose and poetry and
all manner of living literature,
Breathing the soul of this
American land into my world,
Fuelling my lust for escape, so

Today no words rise from
this dirt, this soil so
cold and damp and English;
Today my words dream in
Chilean fields,
Whispering to my heart over
warm Latin winds.

Chile fields

Advertisements

So, what do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s