Hands.
***** and brown they reach up
From the mud. Opening their hands,
Releasing butterflies of death
From their clutches. The grass,
Is still green. The trees, are still alive.
Where life is around me it is also
In the hands where it shouldn't.
They grasp ankles and drag them down.
Some, fall easy. Some not so.
They turn the beautiful skin
Into deep brown ****, muddied
Brown, thick with biomasses of
******* maggots and soil and pebbles.

The sunrise is gorgeous.
It slips into your eyes and enlightens
Your vision with dazzling colours.
The world is alive. Everything is wonderful.
But the hands are relentlessness.  
It's all so pristine,
Even as the mud
Encases your nose, and
Cakes your eyes.