To become your faithful
devoted whisper;
Barren to history
rooted in dry tear-less
disguise,
Of natures' narrative
driven by inquisitive mouths.
Sullen groves of sun kissed
shade
tumble anew
toward the grief and
forgiveness of men;
as others before us beheld
holy divinity,
as a mother's bosom and womb
held the ancestral
Throne of tiny birthed glinting
stars which
Dashed the brief horizon
rushing breathless
Night amid dark pondering
dusty streets
greeted those of beloved
honest righteousnesses.
Breath simply bereaving
and loving both
the dead and living in
all instance.