The Air Becomes Toxic

by Matthew Kenneth Kosak

 

The air becomes toxic.

A toxic air of intolerability, a precipitation of doubt

Sapping the heat from the permafrost.

And why can’t I simply live? asks the seed [thought], frozen,

Suspended, in non-animata. Not yet knowing the feel of Spring

How the liquid heat feels of life fulfilled , of rivulets coursing

With spontaneity , and arms outstretched, the green skin soaking

The first light in a morning

It wonders if it might- (ever) to such feelings, make a sound, an oratorio (for them)

Is there someone to hear it? silly seed, there is no one of our species with ears, (not yet)

These are still in the darkness of the days

leaving their trace

On the grey smudgy pane

The toxic rain of your desolation, has not finished washing.

 

© 2013 by Matthew Kenneth Kosak

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