The Underbrush

whatever we are rots 

dies

denied sun

those summer skies

rain passes us by

crackle

snap 

thirst 

dry

blown 

swept

long past the point of having wept

never keeping 

only kept

never wishing

still placing bets

roots extend

below

moisture travels 

up the marrow

we feel it close by 

climbing the ladder 

the other side

upwards on our blindside

we love the hate

predictable fate

nothing left in a graveyard 

to wound 

to maim

consequences no longer retain

keeps us sane

our failure 

was to feel too much 

hurt given forth 

recoiled

we loved 

we spoiled

here we lay 

embroiled

mending nothing

pointing dull foils

forsaken 

bereft

beauty forgot us 

leaving us to falter

sorely missing radiance of warmth

somewhere deep 

within

we long to be akin