It's first week of September
Still the downpour continues
It drenches the small table
The wet bird looking tired
The humid breeze in between
disheveling your hair curls
A leaf through the window ajar
Takes a seat on your neck
Smell of jasmine from outside
In a contest with your soft scent
The room looks fairly excited
Seeks replacement with a tent
Clouds break letting in the sun
A little shine on the hair bun
Every morning he walked the path through immortalized trees
Just right before dawn while natures at peace
Deep in the forest he listened to the shivering leaves
Celebrating their life with only the weight of a breeze
Strolling on through the wilderness still foggy with mist
With every step he's determined inhaling the wind
Surveying the landscape divided by rolling slopes
In search of the one perfect flower that will give meaning to hope
Beyond rushing streams in final remnants of night
Etched with the last silvered thorns of adorning moonlight
Near the end he discovered with sorrow decayed and disheveling trees
But then he heard cheerful whispers from the first birds to sing
As the morning swords of sunrise gave birth to new eyes
He admires the passion of the dying inspiring new life
And with contemplation he studies a beautiful rare flower in bloom
Growing upon the dead flesh of the earth and with peace his heart was consumed
With hunger comes a somber head,
Thus weakened by the lack of bread;
The filament of will is thinned,
The crop is filled with empty wind;
And time is creeping like a stone,
An urgent face in pace forlorn;
And while some goods are left to rot,
My stomach churns downside to top;
That by the time the aids arrive,
I’d have eaten half my own alive;
Half dead is dragged with clanging bones,
From mats of flies a dreadful drone;
And vultures buy time worth the wait,
The drooling dogs their mouths agape;
Until the motion goes to rest;
Upon my carcass hold a feast,
Fiercer than lion, o meaner than jaws
Sharper than eagle’s raptorial claws
Ripping the heart off the hollow of chest
Disheveling the rest that they cannot ingest
Racing to sit at the top of the heap
To perch on a sill for a primordial feat
Greed is the master, hunger the beast;
Man is the prime yet man is the least…
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