South of Oklahoma City

I am Jeremy69, and this is the whispering wildness south of Oklahoma City
where the sky, a bruised canvas of cotton-candy clouds, bleeds into the horizons edge,
and the land, a forgotten lover, stretches flat and golden-brown beneath my gaze.
I watch the grasses tall, brittle, and wild dance like forgotten prayers to the winds invisible hand,
while purple wildflowers, shy and scattered, stitch the earths tired quilt with threads of quiet magic.
The brush, gnarled and green, stands like silent sentinels ancient, unyielding, and watching.
This is no manicured park or tourist snapshot; this is the raw, unspoken soul of the prairies southern flank,
where the wind steals secrets and the clouds hold the skys most tender confessions.
I am not just here I am part of the rustle, the sigh, the slow, stubborn heartbeat of the land.
This is where the earth remembers its wildness, and I, Jeremy69, am its humble witness,
poet of the parched soil and the puffy, dreaming heavens above.

Comments