One can not begin to say
How the womb encompasses
The brain and strangles it
To the point of breaking
A small hand tugs on all of the organs
Planting a tree that does not bear fruit
Into the churning mass of sensation
A due date has been set on something beautiful
Taking away its appeal and spontaneity
Because the cave has a limited depth
Few comprehend the anxious meaning
The importance of the time
When the clock hands both land on zwölf
And the ringing sensation has been filled throughout
But reality is the one to say that you have to wind it
The pendulum swings, cutting away at the stomach
Since the day of conception
What cruel deity would cast a misty cloud
Over the flower of youth
Poisoning away any hope of survival
One can only wonder