Old sod in melodies
Giving breath to exhausted lungs,
waves lapping around your legs,
sparkling specs that resemble crystals in value,
Gazing into the meadows dawn,
you’re really never lost in the forest,
bushes ahead of you and branches above you leading your way,
they curl over your head,
some grazing the thick bristles of your hair as you walk past.
In the desert,
the dunes pile up,
flowing on top of each other like an offbeat note,
the sun rises over these dunes,
to blind the,
and looks for its love.
Begging for trees instead of industry,
and the dirt that sticks on our feet we lay it down for its own,
maybe its best that the things that we lay,
die with us,
and for which I can refer to this earth; my own.
Jake Bracha is a sixteen year old writer from Miami, Florida. He attends Miami Arts Charter and is a junior. He has been in the Creative Writing program at his school for three years and enjoys it very much.