across the blades of harvest across the cobwebs with knots improper dreams wrinkle childhood still, the seeds are too young to fight still, the guilty feel no remorse the war in the soil without any cries without any touch the cradles are left behind only innocence grows the conception a silhouette of the eyes a silhouette of the rainbows pain of wisdom in dust within each broken branch . . . within each fallen petal rainbow-colored hope.