Coloured

The sun is high
 It floods the land with its extraction of the warming dark
 That clings to us from sleeping
 The colours flee the grasp of morning
 As it turns into the chilling heat of midday
 Harsh and beating
 The stones beneath our feet scream slowly
 The grass is stepped upon
 Its gleaming life is spent
 The shock of innocence
 Diluted in the years that pass for wisdom
 In these lives that mock their makers
 The grasp of essences
 That waft beyond our knowledge or our care
 Or our skill outside our dreams of purloined acres
 The dirt beneath our nails is gnawing at our nerve-ends
 The wax inside our ears moves on
 The phlegm behind our throats
 Is thrusting out its tendrils to the light
 The ignorance of this has gone
 The skin falls slackly
 From the flesh that once was muscled now has atrophied
 And hangs in folds of anger
 The eyes are glazed, the legs are stiff, the mouth is dry
 The teeth are clenched to hide
 The colours of the chancre
 The stones beneath our feet outlive us in their laughter
 The grass springs up as if anew
 This sun is high
 It floods the land that lives without our sweet consent
 The colours iridesce in you
 The sun is high
 It beats at lives that have not started
 As we lie in earth of saturated hue