that perhaps, you’re the light in
a barren wasteland. but not my lands
because mine hrive and up, under and over with the green of the work
the toilage and the drips of sweat that has salted the earth to raise that green.
that perhaps these barren fields
are yours; are those of the ones who left you behind; the skinned stark bone
and the light is a hope-
a gleaming luminescent glow
from within you begging you for a chance to believe that you can salt this earth around you that you can look around you instead of everywhere else,
for the soul of your roots to fill with that green for you to save yourself.