And so amidst our burning, churning sun
Lay the stories unfurling of our learning selves:
Whether we bemoan the weather and its turning course
Or relinquish trepidation to the skies.
Said stories are blurred with burdened minds;
Afflicted by the conditions of our own.
And per scene, per act why won't see
The edits of greater struck to us leads.
I wish you could see as much as me,
As much as we can see you be.
Silent awe in the fruits you bore
And with it, brilliant glee.
We adore the world you've built unwitting
Of the growth that took its place.
For if merely being with intent alone
Can steer our ragged masts,
Then perhaps our images we hold in silent
Can progress as we have asked.