Scorched
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Scorched
Here is one I wrote last summer and forgot about it. Tell me what you think. How could I improve it?
Scorched
I feel as a dried worm in noon day’s sun.
If heat had weight I’d be lifting a ton.
There is no relief from the valley’s scorch.
The left side of my face hot as a torch.
It is a dry heat as they forever say,
So is the furnace baking the hard clay.
As I sit and wait for heat to subside.
Only water here are tears I have cried.
I need some help to continue this march.
A sip of water for my tongue so parched.
God, give me a sign you can feel my pain.
Is it too much to ask? I ask for some rain.
Last edited by Oblaidon 08-17-2010 at 05:39:42 PM
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In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.
Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.