Fields – Patrick Wigington

Fields

By Patrick Wigington

 

Into a mystic breath, solitude

Out of forgotten places, sacrifice

Within the walls of fortitude

The sounds of falling ice.

 

A field burns in the distance

A pear tree grows diseased.

Traitors wait for assistance

From the wind, to be appeased.

 

Blood—an open wound expands,

Worms eating eternity.

Many things he demands

Dirty dust engulfing me.