These barren fields,
wolf-grey coats of bark and
dust, coarse lines bleeding
trails, idle in stillness,
parsed, perched,
widows of breath,
brittle as ash in wind
sit slack-jawed, cold,
hinterlands of impervious past.

Fields once green with
life, sealed to drought,
shielded by lushness,
beauty, palpable energy,
footprints, hoof prints,
sun-soaked stems and
petals under dalliances of
bliss, impenetrable to
heaven’s prevailing winds

at long last burn – shimmers
of light, heat, soft sparks
glinting at night, radiate in
glory as hunters’ souls fall
dim. These barren fields,
once fortresses, iron trestles,
mastheads of solitude, now lay
bare, soiled by sin, awash in
blood splintered from their roots.

 

Also published at ALTARWORK and The Bees Are Dead.

Posted by Jason Ramsey

Christian. Dad to five, including two sets of twins. Husband to favorite person. Guy behind ALTARWORK and Amity Coalition. Interests: mental health advocacy, social equality, religious freedom. Writing featured at Patheos, Venn Magazine, The Bees Are Dead, The Mudroom, My Ink Dance, ALTARWORK, and more. Leading by leaps of faith and grace. Exposing goodness every day.

2 Comments

  1. Mr. Ramsey, I really love this. I’ve been slowly reading through your poems this afternoon. Wow. Thank you so much.

    Reply

  2. Thank you so much, Amy. Your words mean more to me than you know. Blessings to you. 🙂

    Reply

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