Fertile Fields
Fertile fields are best for the living and the dead.
A thick blanket of grass, black soil for a bed.
Fertile fields are for the lucky ones, they are not for me.
I was first to this land and will be the last to leave,
For now, I’m trapped under concrete and towers of glass,
Crushed under future ambitions and mistakes of the past.
Oh, to be in fertile fields where I could rest my bones,
Among the dandelions, the morning dew, and the ancient stones.
Fertile fields are for the deserving ones, they are not for me.
I am cursed and bound to these barren grounds for all eternity.
This poem was first published in Issue 40 of ScribesMICROFiction.