It can be said for many that life is a flat land of sand and habit

A grindstone of labor for those in need 

And a grueling routine as they march unseen

For it is such a droning deed

To keep your children breathing

And keep yourself alive

But this is human life

And here lies the test

Do we let ourselves be bound

Tied down by breath itself

Or do we see an open field

Crisp with blades of grass

On a plain of salt and sweat

That thrives to be alive

A place

Where some will truly live

While others

Wither by

Life is very hard

But when you know enough to know how privileged each breath is

Then all the pains you sense

Fly the fence to favored dreams

They fall like violet leaves

They grow lined by ash and sky

And from the bones of blood gone dry

They whisper this wise cry

…

“Walk above our graves on a grassland we provide

Drink the pain as self crushed wine

And relish the precious time

Feel the blades with every step

In a place of salt and sweat

In a place

That thrives 

  To be alive ”

  'Grassland' - c.2009 - Tim Cantor