I Am Small
To know pain
is to exist, and as lovely
is this pain as lonely is the
fall out of earth, away from
time there are angels who paint
the sky a burst of color to dry the
leaking eye, aren't we all subservient,
I feel weak, I feel the fog settling around
me, I feel forgotten.
Contract into a shell, thump against its
sides you've fallen, and the fall doesn't
seem so terrible any longer, all mystery
is a separation from misery, in theory.
The wild dark is home to a burdened
animal, and you can feel afraid
lying against the forest ground so
long as there is no star to follow,
the lavishing trees have to bend,
have you heard them at winters
end, crying insubordinate, I suppose,
we've all been.
So if we're quite the opposite of a lavishing
tree, and quite the same, aren't we as useless
as the forest? Couldn't anything be useless,
aren't we?