The horse called sun parades the sky,
     and canters dawn till dusk.
Her destination like her start.
     The land she braves a husk.
The lift that once with sceptre ruled,
     now hangs precariously.
A vestige of triumphant past;
     a tone without a key.

Mistakes were made: our human choice.
     Our greatest gift of all.
Was also where temptations lay
     and paved the say for fall.
Abhorrent beast in camouflage,
     it waited. Nay! but more.
It drew us in. It wooed us so.
     Till our greed was bruised and sore.

We gave it all. The basket filled,
     with all the eggs we owned.
Technology, our greatest dream.
     Our faith in God, disowned.
We craved control; we wanted more.
     We pushed and slaved and toiled.
Yet in the end, our master plan,
     so suicidal: Foiled.

Did we not perceive its path.
     Did we ne'er see signs so ample.
That what clicks and whirrs in silence
     is an evil kind of tranquil.
Mayhap we were misled from start.
     Mayhap we were betrayed.
Yet evil lurks in sparkling lust;
     A sheen so oft we daren't abrade.

The gift to chose was ours to make
     and made it so we did.
We chose to cover up the truth.
     The consequence we hid.
Therefore the blame is truly ours
     and bear that blame we must.
Until ourselves we tear away
     and learn the truth to trust.

Around the fire once more we sit
     as flames cavort and dance.
The golden flowers that bloom and die
     within a moments glance.
As fire takes hold destruction grows,
     the wood first glows then dies.
Crushed by its descendants
     as the logs destabilise.

I warm my hands; the winter cold.
     The sun grows old it seems.
A meeker start now hangs above;
     much weaker than in my dreams.
The frost is thick. My breath alive;
     in air doth manifest.
and in an instant gone again.
     So quick from East to West.

Yolanda works adjusting leg.
     She tests replacement limb.
As sun, her stables far behind,
     continues skyward whim.
"This one's no good," she offers up
     and disengages lock.
Removing agèd stilt
     and resting part against a rock.

"You promised that you'd tell me!"
     I speak in manner gruff.
Now past the point of pleasantries,
     "I've waited long enough!"
She nods her head. "You're right,"
     she says. "Tomorrow. Dawn. OK?"
I nod my head and say no more
     as night turns into day.

I watch as latent chill escapes,
     melts and changes form.
Subverting daylight's gift of heat,
     hiding from the warm.
It soaks the earth and refuge seeks;
     beneath the dirt it waits.
Until the calling pulls too strong
     and dew evaporates.

I spend the day apart from her;
     she tinkers with her frame.
O'er air and distance travel words,
     the ones she doth proclaim.
Frustration, anger, perhaps some pain.
     Her vast and varied diet,
ricochets off rusted stacks;
     stirring life from quiet.

And as I walk I pray to God;
     A practice I'd mislaid.
Though faith was never stirèd
     our relationship decayed.
Yet now we talk and in full swing
     our private conversation.
The pains of world, the dirty secrets,
     lost for the duration.

I wander further than before.
     I wonder at this place.
How could the world succumb to this,
     forget it's father's face.
How many, O with rapturous joy,
     in awe at their creation,
did never stop, not even once,
     to muse on state of nation.

I wind up far from campsite;
     aside a sheltered brook.
The whispering a fitting sound
     for nature's muted nook.
Leaves float down the water's path.
     In peace - procession, carried.
A union of force and toy;
     a sham of motion married.

Over shoulder now I stare
     at place of final rest.
Where body sleeps in perfect peace,
     where Earth entombs its guest.
Birds sing sweetly overhead
     and dance o'er where she lies;
creating sounds of harmony
     amid their joyous cries.

Twas I who dug her grave. Twas I
     who laid her in the ground.
A place of pure serenity;
     a gift for her we found.
With nearby forest fauna,
     her home we decorated.
Ensuring natural beauty
     over death then dominated.

No words were uttered.
     None at all. For quite what could we say?
A girl that neither of us knew
     and with us couldn't stay.
An hour or more I shovelled dirt
     with inefficient blade.
Shovelling the petals
     that the flowers of death hath laid.

And on the grave a symbol there,
     we made with greener stems.
At their ends the stamens stand,
     presenting precious gems.
Arranged to form a letter;
     a terse identity.
In angled lines it stood so proud,
     a floral letter E.

Allowed, I was, to hold the key,
     to keep it in my care.
So close in size and shape to mine.
     If mine had but been there.
And in my pocket still it sits:
     an awkward substitute.
A nervous understudy
     with a fit of disrepute.

In pocket deep I feel the key
     and trace the prideful letter.
Standing tall above the rest;
     as if somehow it were better.
In sinks deep reminder. My hand
     retreats as nausea grows.
My own is lost. Its secret kin,
     ablaze where shadows doze.

In knapsack pack, provisions call;
     so keen to sate my pangs.
And grasping tight I bite the bread
     where hunger's slaying hangs.
The taste so sweet I salivate,
     gently chew and savour.
Taste buds start to sing and dance
     in presence of the flavour.

I pass the day in nature's clutch
     and rest in verdant green.
The colour flows from trees above;
     a glorious emerald stream.
The jagged joints of thorny,
     tentacles resemble arc.
The lightning bolts that burnt my eyes
     and thundered through the dark.

As sun descends, the horse retires,
     tired from daily sprint.
Ignites the sky with genuine ease
     with nary a spark or flint.
Inferno roars. I almost hear
     the atmosphere's flames.
The fluffy fuel that burns above;
     the victim sunset claims.

The green begins to fade
     as do the colours of the sky.
Retreating to the darkness;
     monochrome doth mummify.
And as they, do a practised rote,
     the lanterns all awake.
Blinking in the blankness.
     In procession they partake.

When the heaven's had its fill
     and the scattered lights are bright,
From cloud a thing unsightly
     makes its entrance in the night.
A thing I thought so constant,
     among the stars with fixed position.
A sight of lunar madness:
     The moon in state of demolition.

How could I not have seen before,
     the state of satellite.
That watches o'er the Earth and wave
     as sky's suburbanite.
Oh gosh! This world so changed I see.
     A far cry from my own.
I laugh if I could but recall,
     the details of my home.

I see the flames of campfire,
     in distance, yet quite close.
They warm me so, remotely,
     and burn my mood morose.
Here I am now. Here I stand.
     'Tis here I plant my feet.
From now on moving forward,
     banning credence from retreat.

I walk in haggard moonlight,
     though full in name, in sight corrupt.
The pale light dancing gaily
     as in breeze the leaves disrupt.
In water's perturbations too,
     the ripples doth advance
and court their tiny shorelines
     in a dainty little dance.

The grim details of landscape near
     are hidden from my sight.
And as I walk quite carefully,
     by broken candlelight,
I muse on what tomorrow brings;
     an answer? Nay. Perhaps?
And smile to myself
     as thoughts continue sprinting laps.

In moments few my journey ends,
     far quicker than I thought.
The orange flood content to fill
     where shadows dare contort.
In playful light my tired eyes
     can see her still at rest.
Yet sitting down as quiet as mouse,
     in stealth, I fail the test.

"You're back," she states, "And all is well?"
     I answer, "Yes!" Unsure.
"What could be wrong?" I jest with her
     with aim to aid rapport.
She answers not but turns away.
     Perhaps I've caused offence.
My words, I should choose carefully.
     I have no good defence.

She stays there looking out to where
     the cagèd woman lies
and turning back she speaks to me,
     quite to my own surprise.
"You're looking tired." Her cheeks aglow.
     "Perhaps instead you'd better sleep."
My face portrays confusion
     as I stare at eyes so deep.

"You planned for an excursion?"
     I hasten now to ask,
unscrewing lid with fervour
     from the rusty water flask.
I take a swig and quench my thirst;
     the water's welcome gift,
fills my lake of wanting
     and sets my thoughts adrift.

Then suddenly I understand,
     "You mean you wish to talk?"
Our context always different;
     she and I are cheese and chalk.
"I thought you said tomorrow
     when the day was underway?"
"Why put off till tomorrow
     that which I can say today."