Wheat Fields of Arles

I gaze the wheat field gusts of wind erupt and impede to the very end crows take flight towards the blood red Sun he calls them back rests his weary hands and tired eyes before the long walk into town his silhouette fades as I awaken to view the captured image that hangs from my wall

Deckard

I began writing poetry when I was a teenager and it truly saved me from a destructive path. 'Time Heals' will be on my grave stone'. I have 3 incredible kids who are the greatest gifts that God has given me. If I have advice to give to aspiring...

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