A Dormant longing
all still in this dull Red Rock place.
The mountains are passionless,
deceiving their hue.
I climb to the top to see
if a rush of wind
through my hair will
send me any indication that I live
All is still
my heart only murmurs,
and there doesn't seem to be much else.
Although I run,
sprint towards my life,
my heart;
the engine of my soul,
cools, and spits out
spurts of red dust.
This place so dry and cold
this place between home and home
unknown to me
asks me to engage
and I must politely refuse
and so I continue to run,
I continue to run until that dormant organ
within my blossoming chest thuds
Red.
Rock.
Red
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