There are few absolutes.
Even less that speak as true,
To the golden hues of bygone ages
Or savage whirlpools of our youth.
We were born and we shall die
Shackled to these certainties
Eternal pirouettes of life.
Yet in the doubt we are alive,
A parable of the possible,
The probable or the just might.
Existence in the absence
Between two points of light.
In the uncertain we survive,
A ripple in the darkness,
A dream within the night.

If i would meet a Genie
On a parched and dusty road,
Found down upon his luck
With wishes to be sold.
Well,
Just one,
If truth be told.
Rattling around the lamp
Unkempt, rusted, and old.

I would trade all my tomorrows
To take away your pain and sorrow.

So I turn out all my pockets,
Gifts of silver, lint and gold.
Promises of future earnings
Whatever I shall own.
Offers of the occult.
Blood, shadow and bone.
The sum of all my dreams,
The deed to my rugged soul.