Shreds: “In The Ditch”

From railing moist to glassy sands,
I gather sounds of my tedious day,
With gaze enraged, hungry and bland,
Hands on the page to while away;
The dew descends from elm so shy,
Meets friends upon my shirt anew,
And a cold sun doth in the ditch lie,
Where I sit drenched in apathy’s hues.

The usual verses, lost in taste,
A different sense, a hint of thee,
‘Midst the scribing now misplaced
And thy confusion, your majesty,
And my back is trapped in the ditch,
No shadow of ascent to see,
The night hurls its stone on me,
Heavier than life, I decree.