a quiet discontent
seeps slowly into my bones.

a steady stream of despair
floods my whole perspective.

I cannot escape the weight
pressing quietly down on me.

A slow steady death of my own making.
How do I escape this maddening numbness?

I cry out of the darkness out of a deep dark hole.
A glimmer of hope comes in the form a voice.

Someone climbs down into the darkness with me,
and tells me that he  can't lift me out, but
he can share with me how he dug himself out.

Hope rises from strange places,
and mine began when
I experienced love from strangers,
and realized I am part of a We.

Life's not an about
It is that
Life's a "what"
The places where you live and die

We only sing for the good ones
Sometimes for the bad plans
But we forget about the grey times
Places in between the lines

The moment when the poles unite
The window where the worlds collide
A place where you run and hide
The starting point, the initial pride

No celebrations left to grind
No grievances either put to high
A resting land to ease your mind
No expectations or thoughts rewined

Learn to care for the one behind
You may fall on your own back
Run through places but leave a track
Come on back, enjoy the sight

You burn yourself with glory now
But be polite and don't pollute
We'll trust, no need to take a vow
Go fly but bring your parachute