No hawk hangs over in this air:
The urgent snow is everywhere.
The wing adroiter than a sail
Must lean away from such a gale,
Abandoning its straight intent,
Or else expose tough ligament
And tender flesh to what before
Meant dampened feathers, nothing more.
Forceless upon our backs there fall
Infrequent flakes hexagonal,
Devised in many a curious style
To charm our safety for a while,
Where close to earth like mice we go
Under the horizontal snow.
The waves are crashing on the shore, and I am crawling up the beach. The pounding surf sounds like a roar as I am fleeing water's reach. Don't let it take me, I beseech! Don't give the beast a second chance. It had a turn, but now 's in breach. It's met the bounds of its expanse. And I hear no drums of ghost dance to summon it up onto land. I twist my head to take a glance, and all I see is endless sand.
People penned up without borders by some hidden social order wear uniform-less uniforms, and form a matrix, not a swarm. What invisible chains bind them? Where are the minders who mind them? Is compliance written in our genes -- remnant from ages of Kings and Queens?
We've reached the place where screams aren't heard. You'd think they'd build into a din, but one can't grasp a single word. It has become silent as sin. The angry words are shot to black - that inky void that's unpatrolled, It's silent, yet all're struck by flak. Still, no one admits being sold. But each life 's a product consumed. They wail away the night and day, pretending they're not rightly doomed. Some will say that it's here to stay... True, but are we?
Tiger Riding for Beginners 