Why,
When words calmly manifest the intimacy,
Our hearts render them asunder.
In just a sliver of time.

How,
When surrounded by souls dimly lit,
Do I feel as a death moth fluttering near a lamp.
Ceaselessly eternal.

What,
Can my lips say when my heart is burnt by fire.
What words?
When all are mean.

Where,
Are the seconds of every day gone?
Swallowed;
Except in frivolous pursuit or meaningless drudgery

When,
Could I raise my arms up without fear of falling,
Or be swept by Lethe.

The scorching mid noon heat breathing down our backs
The cooler night wind nursing our scorched palms and heated hearts,
No choice but to move into imagined havens, against,
But, nurturing the cursed heat.

Our souls may rise up against, in anguish, but our voice
Wavers, in response to it’s tempt,
Content in Our Silence; rather than forbear, forthwith
In humorous discontent and fear.

No escape, no peace from the all-seeing heat haze, whatsoever
All action futile, but still hope; parasitical, in all circumstances.
That our latter kindred may be proud, “That though they failed,
Yet, they did struggle.”