The Hour Speller

I can’t spell it forever, I beg for a change
Still tending to the feather, I just need a rest
Time becomes a fever, a virus I can’t stop
Mowing all my lovers, I can’t fit to the rules
Wedding as autumn’s leaf
Friendship as beliefs
Afternoons as only exit
Mornings as digital music
Nothing would ever remain, spelling words lost in the sand
My thistle can’t you see, our world is fading
My thistle can’t you see, the sky and the fields are melting
My juggler can’t you dream, time has come to open you hand
My mothers are the seas, I would drown myself in their poetry