A Whisper in The Silence
Posted: Sun Mar 20, 2016 10:33 am
A Whisper In The Silence;
Upon this barren land you spread you tendrils far and wide
imprinting tentacles of death on cobweb skin.
Like white sails clouds drift above us devoid of any rain
we watch each day but hope is growing thin.
The barren land is baking with no ending now in sight
the mind's eye conjures images so grand.
When once the wet came ever year, on that you could rely
now there is no certainty out on the land.
Five years we have endured this and it's so hard to go on
when your very life depends upon the rain.
The seasons are but fingers now of memories long gone
it's enough to send a weaker man insane.
But within this heart of darkness there is still a hope that soon
the rains will come and wash away our fear.
The land will bloom again and reward us then threefold
I know that precious time is drawing near.
Each night I lie upon my bed and close my eyes to sleep
with images of land so lush and green.
A whisper in the silence, was that the sound of rain?
or a memory of just what might have been.
Bob Pacey ©
Upon this barren land you spread you tendrils far and wide
imprinting tentacles of death on cobweb skin.
Like white sails clouds drift above us devoid of any rain
we watch each day but hope is growing thin.
The barren land is baking with no ending now in sight
the mind's eye conjures images so grand.
When once the wet came ever year, on that you could rely
now there is no certainty out on the land.
Five years we have endured this and it's so hard to go on
when your very life depends upon the rain.
The seasons are but fingers now of memories long gone
it's enough to send a weaker man insane.
But within this heart of darkness there is still a hope that soon
the rains will come and wash away our fear.
The land will bloom again and reward us then threefold
I know that precious time is drawing near.
Each night I lie upon my bed and close my eyes to sleep
with images of land so lush and green.
A whisper in the silence, was that the sound of rain?
or a memory of just what might have been.
Bob Pacey ©