Controlled.
Precise.
Intentional.

There's chaos in my
carefully constructed circle.

Unsure how long
composure can be held

desiring
nothing
more

than
to scream

and
beg
for
help

In the densest fogs
Wander morning birds

Between the trees, evergreen
Yet ever unseen

You can hear the croak of frogs
Their own amphibian words

The day crests high
Light fills the leaves

Glowing green among the gold
As seen from below, but not above

Until then comes the night
And the world then goes to sleep

To wonder if the sun will rise
Once more for different eyes

Or if the same will see
The lovely forest green