RED EARTH
by
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Limited Addiction
I’m a junkie bound to my obsession.
With Mesmer tones, he keeps me far from flight,
though I crave a limited addiction.
His fingers probe, acting the magician
with needled eyes that cause blood to ignite.
I’m a junkie bound to my obsession.
Poetry is his best ammunition --
shot up with fervor all his words incite B
though I crave a limited addiction.
He’s the goods that drag me to submission
through a liquid prison of crystal night.
I’m a junkie bound to my obsession.
Even when I should fight for abolition,
I reach for spoon to curb my appetite,
though I crave a limited addiction.
He’s my hit, my shot, and my perdition.
I’m hooked for wanting someone erudite.
I’m a junkie bound to my obsession,
though I crave a limited addiction.
* * *
Apollo
On an outcrop of rock,
surveying the world
you stand, framed
against the sky.
My eyes gaze upward
as you reach your zenith.
Skin tightens
against your heat.
Burning I scream,
shimmering lightly.
In your presence,
my era is forgotten.
Science would say
you’re only distorted
spectrums of light
in an array of pollution
and dust,
but within you,
I see both the rise
of golden manes
and the flick of tails
that set the sun.
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About the Book
Red Earth is a book that has pulsed beneath the fingertips, clamoring to be written. Within the poems exist a mix of both the Lyric and Romantic styles, representing the power of love and loss. Red Earth hearkens back to the concept of creative beginnings, embracing both the beauty of the world and a passion of life. These poems are about the places and people that claim us, and the dreams that motivate change. The author uses her various pieces to guide the reader along the dusty paths of life’s metaphorical deserts, admiring the beauty of the occasional oasis, and the starkness of the long journey.
About the Author
Stacy Anne Weeks is more than a collection of words and sentences; she embraces life and lives it. Stacy collects people and places, storing them inside so she can later share them with others. She understands that beauty is a collection of both joy and sorrow, and that in order to write you must first know both. To understand her, you would have to read the great writers she admires. She has been content to dance among myths, and sit at the feet of Milton. When she isn’t found between the spines of a book, she is out in the world enjoying the simple things, like the perfectly roasted marshmallow.