Great Cycle

They tell me, come on be strong!
They tell me get up and move on.
But deep down I know the world is wrong.
Getting up in its face like a baton on a gong,
the sounds unbearable.
Our roots, no I mean out routes,
like a tree that gives off no shouts,
and rots in a field of hazy gray.
Alone, dead, in the desert today,
and tomorrow, no matter how long there is no sorrow.
There is no green grass;
there 

is no rain, no never, for if rain be there then hope sprouts out fast.

Covers the whole desert in bushy lush grass.

F

or all to flourish and all to live,

but what happens when there is no seed to give?

All ends the same, they are but new beginnings.

For those who disagree,

I dare thee lift a maggot filled tree.

RK