Whilst the days moan and the fickle moon wanes,
All across the barren, wasted, sun-dried grasslands.
Dire need for water, and dire need for strength.
Clinging, grasping, relying until we touch our dream.
Hold me near, hand locked within hand.
And believe me, nothing comes close to you beneath the sun.
Our lips are cracked, and our minds clouded,
Yet, we persevere –
In search of rivers, and where the trees rise from the land.
From some distant kingdom, the fresh breeze blows,
Reminding, that youth and readiness both come and go.
For what of that smooth skin, and that relentless drive.
Manifesting, in private thoughts, passions alike;
Burning, and coming alive, with soulless strife.
Countless nights are challenged, moonlight raining down.
Body heat, it’s our lifeline.
Trying to keep eyes closed amidst the howls and the hoots.
Trying to remain civil where there is no room for error.
Though, through such adversity, pierces hope;
A hope we carry on every part of our thin bodies.
One we use as a brace,
Imbuing us with the effort to be driven on,
To take that next step onto the same dry grass.
For one day, we will witness green.