contamination

Learn more about other poetry terms

The Black (pt. 3) In the farthest field there is a deep pit A wound, proclaimed in the dusty outreaches Of sweeping grass element Which now and again bubbles and Blossoms
                The Black (pt. 2) In seventeen years All the roots have settled The roots are strong, They breathe. In seventeen years Our sun has curated Created Our plentiful harvests
                The Black (pt. 1) I am not sure what I was expecting Here; We have this- This potential And those who chip away at it With their gold encrusted pick axes
Subscribe to contamination