The leaves of fear lilt down upon my face,
This world is filled with sound but not a single word,
Everything is left to chance in this jungled place,
An injurious scream shatters from an inept bird,
Who fluctuates, noise uneasily in disgrace.
Distant awkward slaves of shriek are not seen but heard,
Doomed to a pointless, endless fluttering display.
Would that apathy flew as easily away.
Why is the exquisite charm of first love so fleeting?
What withered sequel remains in this wilderness?
Perhaps the word is the clue we are all seeking?
Within the sounds only the word has tenderness.
The joy and vision of poetry’s merriment,
With it\'s clear honesty and its enlightenment,
Will be re-born beyond these rotting fields of pain,
When another curious eye will read again,
And a new ear will hear the sound of loves refrain.
Needless awe dies too quickly after the young heart,
Has stilled its fantastic romance with this great lark,
And beyond the flames earnest regard must depart,
Until a fresh mind reads those loving words so stark,
And the lights in the jungle extinguish the dark.