Coloured

The sun is high It floods the land with its extraction of the warming dark That clings to us from sleeping The colours flee the grasp of morning As it turns into the chilling heat of midday Harsh and beating The stones beneath our feet scream slowly The grass is stepped upon Its gleaming life is spent The shock of innocence Diluted in the years that pass for wisdom In these lives that mock their makers The grasp of essences That waft beyond our knowledge or our care Or our skill outside our dreams of purloined acres The dirt beneath our nails is gnawing at our nerve-ends The wax inside our ears moves on The phlegm behind our throats Is thrusting out its tendrils to the light The ignorance of this has gone The skin falls slackly From the flesh that once was muscled now has atrophied And hangs in folds of anger The eyes are glazed, the legs are stiff, the mouth is dry The teeth are clenched to hide The colours of the chancre The stones beneath our feet outlive us in their laughter The grass springs up as if anew This sun is high It floods the land that lives without our sweet consent The colours iridesce in you The sun is high It beats at lives that have not started As we lie in earth of saturated hue