And the Earth -
Always, the smell of the Earth haunted his dreams.
He always woke lost to the scent of pungent pines and vegetation,
Soaking soil with the dust after rain drifting away from him like
A night companion that knew nothing but morning-after abandonment.
He couldn’t shake those nights, they were
A disease that plagued him, tauntingly,
Letting him function in the day
But still keeping phantom hands across his heart.

This originally wasn't a piece of poetry. This was actually just something I wrote describing a character I've been working on for a story. I was rereading my outline for him and stumbled across this. I thought it might be worth fashioning into a poem and publishing.

August, 2015

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Robert L. Martin
about 5 years

Very nice. I love the imagery

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