Rays of the Sun

We sit on a brink of our grazing land
gazing willfully at sudden deep set
gray dulling skies, and a smog that covers
and douses the crown of my head.
Barely can I see the whites of your eyes
that glow against the dullness of this place.
It is dry and even a thunderstorms rampage
is welcomed in this place.
Emory colors of a blaze would far surpass
that of the deadness our infertile land has become.
And in waiting here we become
lost in our never ending thoughts that climb
clandestine trees that stand against the pale sky.
You recall and I remember,
I remember when there was a greenness;
perhaps a dream in childhoods doors
where I had ran my barefoot against the ground, and
felt the nuzzle of fresh cut grass along my heel.
But we sit here and all is dead,
all what is lost came and went
in the streaking of the summer's heat
and the yellow rays of the sun.