Even the fields are grey and stiff
shuffling through pain
rows winched in furrows
thirsting streambeds cracked.
There was a time when
it wasn’t like that
when sun-soaked ribbons
danced among the wheat
when joy was a happy whistle
of scurrying busy beetles
and the air smelled of lavender.
It came when we weren’t looking
came with its weapons,
its lies, its cruelty
it came, a thief, in a furtive
moment stole the light,
vanquished the warmth,
dried the succulence
silenced the music
until we screamed you’ve won,
have your spoils,
take the brittle bones
and bloodless veins.
Just leave the wits intact
It’s the only way we’ll
ever have a good idea.
Focus Unlimited 