Mercy

Found this scribbled on a piece of scrap paper (2006?)

The daybreak tears into another
Song as the evening dust is chased
The golden ball rolls slowly near
As we count hours on threads of hay

The heat not ideal, but death to those
Who try to ride the sky's flaming rose
No need to read in these demands
Just open, listen, and give it a chance

The ceiling is low, to block the sun's prose
Is it good or is it bad, we sit
And wait for things to have. When we
Can't fathom living without, imagine
Dying from trying, imagine
Risking it all for nothing.
Because you have nothing.

Look into the eyes of broken stigma
A cultured bloom without the petals
Disappointment for all to see
Wait for one to see the seeds

Run your fingers along these cracks
So dry and worn, so deep and black
Tehy echo stories across the valleys
Once flowing, lush to arrive at the meridian
But the sea just drags a groan
As the lid moves over her form

But on the prowl again tonight
The hunt above the kill
But kill he does with no confession
Prey to fear of realisation

The moon drums the bridging hums
As it turns and slides away
But the sun may wait to start today
Wait, until we're ready