Trumpet Screams told to be silent
            So we sit silent
            We sit silent under the clouds in sepia tones
                                    —it all looks sickly and yellow
            Overlooking rock-framed lakes
            And you have no wisdom
                        You have desperation
                        You have your hands
            Your hands are clawing from riverstreams and grabbing onto anything good
                                                                                    Good until it drowns
                                                                                    Good until it drowns into misery
I am walking along the rocks
Along the riverstream
And I am confident in my balance
            And you
            With hands clawing from riverstreams are splashing the edges
                                                Trying to make me slip
                                                            And you claim no action
There are trumpet screams trying to scare your hands back underwater
            Back to the beds of riverstreams
            Back to your own sloth
            Back to your own idleness and inaction
And the trumpet screams from my body are no longer silent
                                    No longer waterlogged
                                    No longer dripping
I will hop rock paths across riverstreams
                                                Rank with algae and leeches
And swim in the peaceful lake it flows into
Swim naked and happy and good