There is no colour to survival;
Plain existence only works in greys
As we are sucked down to basic endurance,
Withdrawn from the frivolous
And shrunk by the beauty,
The land killing and feeding us
Both by equal measure.
When our heart only beats-
Pounds like a drilling or drum-
We shrivel to the outline of a drawing,
Two-dimensional, graphite lines,
And our blood circles wearily.
Living is a different matter;
A contrast to survival, existence
More than duty-bound breathing.
Living is a colourful experience,
A sensory expedition to the brink,
The cherishing of the merry and the silly
With a rejoicing in the unknown;
The unfamiliar in ourselves and the Earth-