A blade of grass is the journeywork of the stars” ― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Snakes in the Grass

Through my eyes of broken glass
I see a holy battleground
Blades of bloodied lemongrass
Are still being voraciously mowed down

With my soul drowning in molten brass
I hear the sands of time blowing past
The desperate outstretched hands
Of the world’s prevailing peaceful class

Beneath skies of darkening light
I feel whispers falling upon this warring blight
Why does truth linger on our damaged blindside
While fear and falsehoods hide?

Some battles are fought in fields, others in hearts. Beneath every blade of grass, a story waits unseen, and sometimes quiet warnings arrive on the gentlest breeze.

Ivor Steven © November 2026