evading grasp

too long a silence scarifies the heart
we dread the abyss that we know is there
after we've stripped the onion layer by layer
having been told that was our proper part
there's no way back down to the very start
our feet seem planted firmly in the air
with not an obligation are we square
and yet we seem to think we master art
the cloudy sky is pregnant with no rain
beneath us wells of justice have run dry
in autumn every tree is stubborn green
we lack a proper measure for the pain
that we have caused with every little lie
nor can we analyse what we have seen