I will not tell you when my hands come down
In a strike of sword killing the earth
You will not know when lightning strikes my sky
Or crumbles the clods around my hearth
I will not talk of beaches we could have walked on
At this time of dreamless sleep and dearth
You will not ask me if the soil screamed out blood
And if my axe wrenched out all its mirth
We will assume silence like it were the only truth
Measuring our steps towards supposed worth

Then as the sun frowns upon another wasted day
We will look away as strangers would have preferred
Peering into the desert praying for another birth