Adiemus

I lay upon the dampened grass,
Glazed by nothing more than day-long toil.
There is hope amongst the blades,
Though death seems with them, always.
Against skin, cooling
And wretched;
Therein, no heat of life,
Yet they live.

Above, thriving green willow branches,
Thieves of life’s greater ambitions;
Wilted lifelines crossing the stars
Who remain steadfast centuries of a greater world,
Reluctant against the wood.
Ah, the difference between heaven and God.