The mark of man lies on the forest floor.

The mark of man lies on the forest floor.

Dreams of love

       fall

in golds and reds,

to the forest floor

      dead,

while tears of longing

       collect

    in lake dread 

        drying.

        Hope

melts on lava floors

       dissipating,

where laughter is

wiped from a smile

           now

         frowning,

on sacred grounds

 no longer private,

I squat in the wild

     with cramps,

         debating,

  with no paper insight....

          I see

        my roll

        at home

         waiting.