Posted by: Ron DuBour | August 12, 2015

Monsoon Winds~by Norman Wilson


 

 

Monsoon Winds

The he’s and she’s of gentleness
That holds the tears of tender breath
Touching souls of those that are still left
From mound of mud and rocks of death

Fascinating was the eyes that rise
Towards the quietness that fell
Upon a field that no longer yields
From a monsoon that brewed from hell

To reap and sheaf the harvest-gold
In fields of sludge and running mold
Where bones fester beneath the stones
As church bells chime their final death toll

The monsoon winds have come and gone
Weathering the withering bluish skies
Where grieving eyes forever flow
With tender tears of breath for those that died

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 08/01/15
Norman Francis


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