Hung still

A day that did not move the air hung still
The sun remorseless beating people down
Deserted streets with dust too tired to move
Enforced siesta blanketing the town
There he was exception to the rule
A figure stalked the empty road alone
The sun too high for shadow at his feet
His quiet silence echoing the stone
Deep valley lay some way beyond the town
A bridge traversed the stony dry ravine
Dark solitary soul ascended there
Until his death his life would be unseen
Released into the air a haunting moan
Hung still before the long descent to home

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Author: thepoetautist

A Gay poet of fifty odd years who is currently living in Cambodia.

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