Life breeds death, as death calls life
The wheel splinters and is mended all the same
The rooster calls away the night,
The moon recedes yet emerges once again

The father spends his troubled toil
Scraping up the fallen few
Resources for his sickly coil
And shards of life that sprout anew.

The mother tends to chastened children
Skipping idly through the dirt
Laughing, lacking lowly languish
That exceeds their share of mirth.

The flowers bloom like open gashes
Springing out in fits of folly
Someone, somewhere, slashes,
Plucks them out,
like shining silks
and liquorice lollies.

The pen marks paper,
The pick marks stone.
The knife carves deep
And underneath.
The freedom,
for the foolish,