The Red Landfill

Hidden it is

Spreading the feet
Of broken bones
Therein lies the arms
Of pleading seeds
Beating with the pulse
Of a chasing deer

The crying heads
Paddle the stream
Of bloody ice
Rushing through the
Bricks of rusty glass
Pouring along in
The sacred womb

The red landfill
Serves as the home
Of countless trees
Bending the head
Of the Olive’s skin




About Michael Ogundele

A writer, ardent reader and lover of nature. fell in love with writing five years back and I've been engraved in her arms ever since. I share my little way of writing poetry and reflections based on Catholic faith and Spirituality on this space. I hope you enjoy reading as we ride the same chariot to the leafy greens. Do follow me and together, let us jump into the ocean of my ink.
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