Look on ticking fields askew,
I open eyes again renewed,
I plunge my hand into the brush,
Their seconds softer,
Meeker than some firmer days,

Trace deeper,
I stroke the gapping cracks abundant,
Fissures spanning my perception,
Fractals scattered between my touch,

Their finer fractures seem to dig in,
Overturning soil in tiny mounds,
The hours laid out flat,
Almost bent to breaking point yet holding humble,

What melody do you bring to me?
Of scraping nails and howling fiends?
Of shattered dreams that scar the heart?
You'll break your beams on gorgeous fields,

Dream bastion of the wearied world,
I scarce desire to call you so,
Sole dust resides in floating walls,
And none will lean on fragile might,

Your rage will break you,
This I know,
I'd say recede to lifting dream,
But shattered too shall you soon be.