9.4-9.10: Heat Stroke

My head pounds from the brightness of the sun.
Its rays continually scorch the earth.
She warms but kills: from where it all begun,
Including me and you and him and her.

Reaching down I feel Gaea in the dirt.
I snuggly grip her calloused hand that made.
A fingertip touched mine and I was sure
That I would wander with a beautied mate.

Though the soft sun still pounds and surely bakes
Me from the inside out, not from the sky,
With her I fail to fall, accept my fate.
Instead, I stumble ‘round and mutter “Why?”

But I don’t dare hide, die, nor do I run.
I just ask myself; “Is she the one?”

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