As the aches ease
Nothing seams to appease
My overwhelming sense
Of a world falling to it's knees.
So much I want to
See and do and create,
But a scarcity of a measure
I've yet to have seen
Seems to be bearing down
On everyone I meet.
My pockets are sewn,
And my eyes are closed,
And my feet just keep swinging me
Side to side,
Like a lost man
Looking for his life
In the muddy waters
Of a delta
Somewhere on the other side.
I can hear the harmonies
Of that voice,
Left ragged by years of neglect
Somewhere in the spaces
Between my ambitions
And my intellect,
Which seem to just sit there
Spinning,
For lack of ideas
And lack of something
To truly cherish, adorn, or collect.
It whispers softly
Of the old world,
In something I can only imagine
As the next language,
Where we've truly captured
The meaning of the moment
In all it's joyousness
And torment
- A medium
Where we can speak
To our ends
Without neglecting
The means,
And shadowing
All the desperation
That feeds it in-between.