The hills filled with fight and fear
Days are lost in rudimentary cheer
One could’ve a million sensitivities
But only if there were green on trees
Instead only wireless telecom towers
Stabbing the sky facing futile hours
Unable to decide or divide the parts
Of the day, feelings from the hearts
Minds and simply growing on lips
Like lumber from myriad wasted trips
Neither spoken nor sanctified desire
In the space without food or fire
Lost in the unrestrained historical plot
Barren land without fertile thought
Direction or any perspective clue
But the spring comes to the desert too