Coarse is the Grind

Coarse is the Grind

Lay down the light,
With tears of grace,
As the shadow of capacities fall,
I'm first to arrive,
And the last to leave,
One shutters at that thought.

The thought of the dark realm,
Coming through thy screams,
Are you paying attention?
Like standing in line,
In front of the mountain,
The image follows thee.

As the baker pleas,
Coarse is the grind,
Like a cold stone mill,
Grinding corn,
Turning out yellow meal,
Coarse is just fine.