The West Is Dead

Everything I write is inspired by things in my everyday life. This poem was inspired by a friend of mine, Will, who started a clothing company called The West Is Dead. The cloths and cause are awesome. Check out this website, www.thewestisdead.com

The West Is Dead

O desert grass, how do you thrive?

Why do the clouds yield so much drink in these badlands?

There is no dust, no tumbleweeds, only prairie and skulls.

This is where the buffalo roamed.

Under a cosmic sky, they were the lifeblood,

The heartbeat.

There is no colossal body to tame

this eternal grassland.

They were wild.

Energy embodied.

Life.

It was genocide that fertilized this desolate earth.

Shriveled seeds swallow bison blood.

Not even shadows remain.

Without them

The west is dead.