Clouds have dimmed the day,
The light of noon turned.
Far off begins the drum beat,
Warriors march behind it.
Fingers dig into the earth,
Raking with heavens plow.
Soon a soft cool breeze begins,
Then fiercely it pushes,
As the army spoils all before it.
You can hear the tramp of boots
Distant at first,
Now a hissing movement.
Waiting for the inevitable,
Face turned to the sky,
Drenched in this life,
The body is pummeled by arrows.
An anticipated death of heat,
The summer storm renews.
Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour
For me this line: “Drenched in this life,” is the core of the poem. Of course, I could be wrong. But good stuff nonetheless.
The army metaphor is great for getting the sense of inevitable movement you’ve got here. Great work.
you’ve caught it…
Weather aside, Waiting for the inevitable, is the way I understand this.