The Anxious

The anxious walk with silent step
Among the urgent crowds.
Their damning seeds they hold within
And damn the seed aloud.
Their muted breath they wish to stop
And collect the silence that abounds.
They know of no fortuitous strength
Or troubled need that hounds.
They wish to cup the supple breast
Or taste the sweetness of joyous tears.
They rectify no offset balance
And to the Messenger they deliver their fears
So that all the world might know their promise
And pay their bounty with their cries.
They steep their hands in the sinewy mold
Of a woman's anxious lies.