A Study In Bleak (Poetry)

Thought has grown me a
vast continent full
of flat empty plains
where I roam alone
face into the wind

The weather’s not kind
sun too often cold
moon indifferent
to the ice splinters
blowing in my eyes

Grass covers remains
of a long ago
temple to lost gods
scars green from old wars
far-scattered as graves

An aching terrain
abandoned — unloved
anonymous ghosts
tread paths they once trod
time circles the track

Horizons stretch grey
roll thin in the mind
pale boundaries snake
each country I find
as bleak as the last