HIS FUTURE UNFOLDS. EVERYDAY,
AS SUNLIGHT TRESPASSES DARK SKY
TOMORROW SHALL BE A BETTER DAY
THAT COMFORTING THOUGHT; A LIE.
AT THE BREAK OF LIGHT
FROM THE LUXURY OF HIS OWN SELF.
LEGS PACE FOR GREEN FIELDS.
THE FACTORY SIREN, NOT THE COCK
SHIFTING GEARS OF HIS MERCILESS CLOCK.
WITH FOLDED HANDS
HE PRAYS AT DUSK. HOPING
FOR A LONGER NIGHT UNTIL DAYLIGHT.
HIS SMALL HANDS AT EASE AGAINST THE GREEN.
IN SILENCE HE FINDS HIS ANSWER.
LIKE TOOLS OF CRAFTSMEN OFF WORK
ABANDONED HE LIES ON GODS PARCHMENT.
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