Member Poem

The earth is cracked, the roots asleep,
A field that prays but cannot weep.
The sky exhales, yet nothing grows,
A silent hymn the desert knows.

The hands that dig, they find no vein,
No river hums, no whispered rain.
The seeds collapse, the winds ignore,
The wanting land, the hollowed core.

A breath too deep, a pulse too thin,
A voice that fades beneath the din.
Yet even voids will beg for more,
For what has gone, for what once tore.

And though no bloom may break the stone,
And though no branch may call it home,
The dust will dream, the dust will keep,
The echoes buried far too deep.