I no longer see the desolate plain
Blue and green haven’t any distinction
Fauna are gone, extinction is here, and
I raise up my cup to see
If its emptiness has anything to yield.
There’s nothing in the field but
Radiated heat that meets with my mind
And tries to tear it in two.
My head shakes its sanity,
I sing of the sun, my inspiration
As I am on the edge of my mental frontier,
Holding on to, not hope, but desperation.

The dark is the worst, as
There’s something harsh in the night.
I’m by myself and I hate having to await
The dawn’s first light,
The song of the birds in flight.
The moon circles around me
Around my head and in my head;
Cicadas play dead and moths surround
Each exhale of frost
Caught by moonlight.

The sun awakes me, just the thought of it
With a couple hours to go.
Each buzz in my hand is the hope of Her
Rescuing me from my trap.