A figure, a statue, stands above the sands of the dessert It hangs in the sky, setting the world ablaze,

Ochre, red, desert. 

Tangerine, Orange,, Burgundy and grape.  The picture fades as the world turns, a moment caught, a breath stops. A figure stood beneath the glare. A face in the valley screaming through the eye, a chin so sharp. The figure stands. This fiery world, a hellish landscape so right. Its alive.

-I-t'-s- H-e-a-d-

-T-u-r-n-s

!Hoping for the day ships return, he waits.

Where are you?

The tree is dying dripping, colours merging as letters release. Ancient barren branches glow roots dive deep, crawling and sorting the tree is dying.

 I-T-S- M-E-L-T-I-N-G-

Lavenders, violets and indigo dance swirling turning forcing, curves form as roots leek. Drops fall, lightning claps white streaks black creeps.

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Poem By Jessica Wacks