A Scorched Earth Leaves But Dreams
why when the last horse has galloped on will the sound of hoof beats
echo ever elegant in our memory as though that
alone would atone our damnable deeds of woe and greed
those very yearnings fed and nurtured by weakness and wanting
that laid waste to every clover covered canyon where a steed
might find a need to stop and graze and thus amaze us as we
gaze upon the splendor that we cannot help but vanquish
even though we’re not at war for it is simply born within us
to do battle with the beauty that we trample neath our footfall
as we seek a greener valley and we doom ourselves because
it is our foolish nature to seek more and thus ignore
what is at hand leaving nothing but an empty barren land
I dream of stallions running free and wild--hoping like a child
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