Washed out golden stretches in every direction.
Broken only by dark voids where ground is cracking.
Parched and starved of life but me.
I trudge across these undulations weakly.
Beating sun cooking me out of my skin.
Dehydrated and stumbling.
Worn down so I am unable to stand.
This surface is baked, boring and infuriatingly bland.
Burns across my hands from its touch.
Been going for a while but it’ll soon be too much.
Pace slowing to barely even a crawl.
Death knocking like a clarion call.
Then skies darken and rain pours.
Relief as I collapse like a corpse.
Smiling and laughing as the sands turn wet.
Never would I have bet.
When again I feel I can move once more.
The sight I find is nothing like it was before.
For there are colourful blooms all around.
Through those dark cracks they found,
A way to burst forth and open up.
Creating a view worth almost perishing for.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 