The Sound of Ink

There was  no harvest the last day. Seeds were left like orphans in fields to grow wild, to face wind without shelter. From a lone oak an owl watched the moon weep for gardens that no longer danced with her shadow. Out in the dust, the rust, the decay the ghosts of men are herded like cattle across drought burdened  earth cursed by their greed.  ©Susie Clevenger 2025 NaPoWriMo Day 21  

Mars has no ink, no ancient paper notes of how and why or caution for men drunk on dominion. It travels the universe through the eyes of men who hope to spoil its surface with a of plunder of flags fighting to upend primordial. Time hangs its clock where time has no meaning, and ticks the days of Mars closer to boots of men building walls with the irony of illegal immigration.  ©Susie Clevenger 2020 #napowrimo2020 Day 5 Written with inspiration from @skylover word list and  Physics with Bjorn Real Toads ~ April 2020 ~ Day 5