Death’s hand rips the numbers we so viciously cling
We stare at the dirt wishing we could sing
All shall some day sing of the sky
When we finally allow our passions to die
But here we all still sit,
Munching on dirt and grit
Oblivious
When will we relish in the clouds
My addiction I do not share
My sadness I grimly wear
Sanguine thoughts of my existence
Where is His providence
What is time and why
All is the same
But the lie I so fearfully tame
All are lost, but opine the way
They only discover what it means to be gay
Not this time, no interlude
This story never seems to conclude
No, for our form transcends
Far beyond which the mind bends
None shall cross
None is cross
Wandering Scarlet
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-taste-of-earth/
