The Writer's Forum

The colours bleeding into one
As the sun slowly falls down
Burnt out from a full day
And the farmers hang their hats
Mud covered boots left on the mat
Sit around the fire and sing
And let the music play
 
Those are days of inspiration
When one blade of grass turning
Made a young man stop dead
And watch the wind play music
Listened to the sounds of nature
Became a part of mother earth
Gave back what we took from it
 
And now we scar that gentle face
And drown out the sounds of the wind
We hold close to our heart dead items
Ones that cannot fulfil our thirst

So when nature fights back
Threatens to take what is hers

Instead what we stole in the night
And laid claim to under the same sun
 
So dead are we to inspiration
We cannot hear the sounds of the winds
As the whistle so gently through the blades
And the fire crackles still with the love
As the stories flowed around intoxicating
Great expeditions of far away journeys
A princess here rescued gently
A prince there now lies in the cold
 
We fail to see with our eyes open
We fail to hear with ears so alert
Come back to a world now forgotten
Welcome home the words unlearnt