Wasted Lands.

Perhaps, your reticence belies
The hunger in your forlorn eyes;
The wasted lands you tread upon,
The day that never gets past dawn –

When all the things you claim to know
Look foreign in your shaking hands;
You slowly step into the void
That gulfs your soul
In wasted
Lands

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

Leave a Reply