lev

the trees have been winter grey
and the ground crunches in early morning chore
what is still here, what has not fallen and decomposed
is what carries me as i have chosen or have surrendered
still in my mind, unstill is the you that will, the dream that only faith can unfold
the linger of a once truth that drove me to this moment
and i call screaming like a ewe in labor to a nothing
that answers in perceived symbol and assumption
the to be or not so is growing slowly at my walls
as if there is some thing greener at its other
and i hear to listen, i read, i tell and there is noise too much to decipher the whispers