Withered roots, take hold of this ground,
Stay near to this surface - earth so easily torn.
Intertwine with this dust, this dirt, this humanity;
Continue in your path, so dark and morbidly drawn.
Stay fast, you pillars, you dying sentinels,
You crumbling custodians of all that is sacred
To this poor pauper's heart.
Stand straight, stand firm,
Stab the sky with your truth;
An unpleasant sight, but needed all the same.
An unwavering reminder that all will fall...
No matter how glorious it once stood.
So why are you still standing?
Failing fingers, grasp for this ledge,
Find only air and wonder why.
Reach for something, anything;
A tangible hold to steady ones breath,
A corporeal saftey - slipping slowly and surely into ebony
Inhale, exhale, you faltering lungs,
Search for a breath in the eyes of others,
Find nothing and ask why.
Continue breathing, continue gasping on water,
Continue trying to find this oxygen - lost to yourself so long ago.
Search, scour, find nothing but the air of others,
And no one wishes to share.
Are you yet reminded of the fraility that you posess?
You are a lost creature, a foul thing...
And yet you live.
Withered roots, delve deep into this soil.
Shattered pillars, crumble safely in this strength.
Failing fingers, grasp the outstretched hand.
Broken lungs, breathe deep of this draft.
She shares it with you, so why deny it?