Robots

We are robots tearing at our skin,
An airliner touching down on ancient lilies.
We are a sentence inside a bookshelf sinning,
Desire in the lungs of a lion sleeping.
We are a willow in the woods silently screaming,
Fire casting wax from the wick.
We are teeth biting into crisp water,
New linen draped upon dark stained rejected repertoire.
We are veins drinking from a rotten whiskey barrel,
Wide eyes waiting for the sun lost behind a hill.
We are an orphan directing traffic in the rain.

But the mud keeps the water in,
Keeps the thirsty moss breathing,
Life concealing,
Poignant feeling,
Touch, touch,
Lower the ceiling.
Slide a ladder under footsteps of the needy.
Dig down deep.
Hope revealing.