Ebb and flow,
how fast and with such quickening pace
do these recurring tides go.
The burdens of my past lives slip
up and down,
back and forth
over the shoreline
with reckless abandon, just barely
protruding the surface of
the good luck charm
under my pillow.
Broken toys of my childhood,
Broken toys of my childhood,
still glistening in the waxing moon.
Unfinished projects that I started
Unfinished projects that I started
long ago, how long
has it been
since I returned?
All my days,
Reflections of myself
when I’m alone
and tired of living
The timeless, ever-changing
The timeless, ever-changing
truth of freedom,
the sensibilities that not
the sensibilities that not
a single beer drunk soul
may care about
on their birthdays.
An addict so busy
An addict so busy
trying to stop,
they don’t know why
they started
in the first place.
The troubled addendum of
soft spoken glares,
those who don’t know
what they could really do,
the sadness at the conformity
the sadness at the conformity
of this intrinsic world,
and by extension, the people
and by extension, the people
who think they don’t carry
anything
into
and
out
of
it.
How cold are these
dead hands, how callous
to summon up
courage needed
to breach the surface
of the water; In time
to cast away these
establishment blues
before nature’s burdens
make
themselves
scarce.
