planet farming
the sun gets hotter day by silent day, and i know
we’re the last sentient outpost on a million year span.
only just arrived on this here planet, green as the grass,
appointed once to pilgrim a bit the heart’s finite course,
indeed a nightmare to some. the thing to remember
about stories like ours, is that some hit it and some just
go home empty. some think they’re whistling with air. myself,
i don’t know what makes a plant grow tall, i don’t know
what makes corn wander the wind. i’m a million
miles from home, and i lost my friend. you take your own
way out. and maybe, just maybe i’ll front you some coin ere
we see our merry little end.
metonymy4u 
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