The Valley
by Frank Watson
A man walks into a valley
Sewn by rock and sand,
Where the grains of rust
Sift softly by his feet.
It is dim and he perceives
The air of a world grown still.
The horizon lies on the other side,
Ebbing just beyond his view;
It is real, like the memory of flesh
Evoked from another time.
The orange-brown cliffs
Turn luridly opaque, engulfing
The emptiness, as barren as the path
That led him here, to this sunless place.
His mind has ceased to be aware
And his body hardens slowly;
He sinks into the valley,
A stone at rest between the cliffs.



Note: The link to this poem was posted on dVersePoets.com for its 9/11/12 Open Link Night.
 
All writings and translations are Copyright © by Frank Watson, also writing as "Blue Flute" (2011-2014).
Year: 
2012