In a strange country

I’ve been here before, 
long ago,
or seen it in a picture:
the red mountain ranges, 
fields watered with blood, 
trees withered and dying 
and the crimson creeks.

Overhead are carrion-eaters, 
circling, circling.

The sky flows with red clouds 
going away — 
not to stay,
but only to rain
on other countries 
before returning home.

Someone is crying somewhere, 
or is bleeding.

There’s no escape from here, 
I know that for sure:
the more you row
the further you go
away from the shore
you’re making for;
and the red land draws closer.

Soon it will invade your heart 
and make you a blood-sucker.



If you enjoyed this feature, please click the heart ❤ below to recommend it to others. Comments are always welcomed. Please follow the author and Written Tales to continue to see more wonderful works like this. Thank you for your kind support!

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Tyrone Graham’s story.