Soaked

I rest my boot

In the drenched soil

To let the reality

Of this earth’s wrath

Sink in.

 

My feet are submerged

In the depth of sludge

Which was once a dry cracked dirt,

But now seeps with

The weight of the moisture

It can’t retain.

 

My legs feel the burden

Of the storm

Which has laid out bare

The lack of growth

In this land’s clay.

 

I once tried to form

This silt into

A field of rye.

But it remains

Nothing more than dirty mire.

 

As my spirit bends,

My knees buckle,

And my being

Rests these dreams

Upon the threshold

Of the over-saturated soil

For which we toiled

Until we could hold

Our tears back no more.

 

–Written by Sandy Heights

Image by <a href=”https://pixabay.com/users/NickyPe-10327513/?utm_source=link-attribution&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=image&amp;utm_content=5028821″>NickyPe</a&gt; from <a href=”https://pixabay.com/?utm_source=link-attribution&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=image&amp;utm_content=5028821″>Pixabay</a&gt;

 

 

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