Still and Fresh

Stillness rules the air tonight.
Not a vibration of sound nor ground.
Just harrowing silence and I.

A light drop settles, echoing calm and fresh harm.
Fading into the pasture, awaiting rebirth.
Excretion in the form of lesions bare fruit.
To which no one watches grow.
It mimics hollow; in truth its care lay elsewhere.
Above all else, it lay nowhere.

The roots delve deep as service.
It's passenger, it's lavender, it's scent for all wrong doing and passion.
Lust filled brewing underneath the soil like a foil covering eyes, skin and unearthly desire.
Reaching higher, but never quite touching the sky.
Its leaves swing like pendulum, resting crisply on unnatural earth.
Man made hurt.
Not to grow, but too die just like the harrowing silence and I.