I lay on a grassy knoll.

The dewy grass below me.

It grows around and into me.

My arms stiff.

My legs rusted over.

I move neither forwards.

Nor backwards.

Nothing to do but stare at the sky above me.

The skies are grey.

The skies are cold.

The skies are unchanging.

The skies are iron.

I am stuck.

Under an iron sky.

No warmth to move me.

No peace nor solace.

From the torment of my unchanging surroundings.

No reason to go on.

Except for one.

Tomorrow the iron sky.

May just be a liquid blue.

I am Timi