A poem

from Charlie C. McNone (via Archie McConnel)

The Half Constructed Wind Farm in a Galloway Landscape

Black hills caught the lowering sun
And wind narrowed eyes watered.
Slack strings of dyke tie down the land

Stretched dark bandages of spruce wrap the slopes
With poultice pushed into each glacial scar,
Moulded to the curve of each decrepit muscle.

The wind pushed trees tilted toward the minarets
Bowing to each tower fanning our belief in a New Jerusalem.
Each muzein crying redemption for what has gone.

Soon giants armed with whirling blades
Marching across the hills convinced in the belief
Of life everlasting.

The cold wind cut
Dictating the belief inscribed by the view.
Another future pressed into being.