will one more gun end the solace of a life
rundown hypocritical slanted skewed
bringers of ends        ends of beginnings
unmeasureable moments
like blades touching my feet
the waves motion in the wind
quivering in fear fear of the scythe
angry bitter cold again a gun
the closer of books the ender of ends
the means the indescribable moments of time
like grass
like grass
like blades
a thousand minor scythes
eroding the passages of time
but their roots tying

a cracked eggshell lying in the grass
crushed by a boot in the grass
etching but binding
crushed and whitened
but springing forth again
the blades that wash beneath my feet
again and i
i drop my gun
and run
shedding all the weight
of imagined moments and fear
because fear is not the blood
not the light that plays
casting light upon my field
of grass