This Red Land

     This land is cracked
     dry as dust
     red as the blood spilt for its theft
     a land of extremes
     days where the sun cooks eggs on cars
     and nights where sweat turns to icicles

     the diamonds of the night sky are wrapped
     in sable cloth that provides the background

     if this land had a voice
     it would surely be husky
     it has been moulded
     while moulding those upon it
     transformed by wicked deeds
     a source of nuclear ferocity
     and still home to an ancient people

this poem was written for a poetry challenge at  Wockyjivvy