Hurting Homeland
Returning to my homeland.
Desolate dustiness shrugs its shoulders,
attempting to pretend
it's pleased I've returned.
Stale dryness of rotten animals
engulfs already weakened lungs.
No specific sound of creatures
would grace shabby, naked, uprooted trees.
Red, patchy clay replaces
virtuous, inviting tender green grass.
Even sun shines lonely.
Missing nurturing rays
that gleam on nature.
My heart is heavy
with unsettling stillness.
Copyright ©2005 ERIKA HUDSON
Hurting Homeland
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