.

 

Chance be had—I sit Here, Now

  Guilty of the Summer's Heat—

Melody Smothered by the Mowers

  Killing the Insect Symphony.

                        ~

No more Innocence on the Page

  Have I to pull from Years—

These Rented Walls come with Age—

  An Outer Peace—No one hears.

                        ~

See the Squirrel, On The Fence—

  Caution in its Gait—

For the Jolt of Energy—

  Both It, and I,—await.

                        ~

Words are Timid to a Thought—

  Attach—Commitment's Task—

Importance, we are amply Given

  Yet of Nothing, does it Ask.

                        ~

We—the Killers of the Silence

  Draw, and Bleed, and Sweat—

To Ask of the Black Fountain

  Am I Alive—Yet?—

                        ~

Arriving at this Spot Demands

  All Attention—Focus—

The Spinning Blade now fast Approaches—

  Blades of Grass—at last.