(no subject)

[graylor]

You become indulgent
As the mystery approaches,
Profligate with noon light and long hours of dusk,
Flashes of scarlet in the trees,
With delicacies and caresses.

You become patient and watchful,
Stay a little longer,
But, still, go at your ease.

You weigh things in strange scales:
Better to go, as a wild thing, as a tame one,
Here among family or there as merely a creature?
Is it your pride? Your over-attachment?
Is there pain? Would lack of pain otuweigh living fear?

Or, in the end, is there merely grass,
Cool and damp in the growing dark,
With flashes of scarlet in the trees?