Just was it? Never what you’d expect.
Raw, flesh, bloodied red and dirt earth.
Like the taste of water sediment echoing in an empty cup.
Now I am taken back.
To a foreign land,
This terrain my skin.
Transformed to a dusty rocky origin.
An old tree, wild life springs about.
The scorching sunset
quenching her thust by the mirage.
A familiar sound blankets the evening.
Drowning the silence in long melodies,
vowels weaved through tradition of gone days.
Red.
Dust paints it all.
The night rises, like a warrior.
Shadows by the blazing flame… crackling bone fire.
Chest drums a language foreign to the tongue.
An ancestral chant, the warriors' courage.
On the Tree of Life, truth sits.
A huntress watching. Preying.
Is that not just?
