We work to craft and build our being
So that being us is not a bore
A chore or miserable existence
Where we do not at least have
The smallest hope of being free

Set

The wishful dream of
Someone to be near is what
I answer when asked

Letting the years pass by
Is not a matter of choice
But a matter of being
Be it conscious or unconsciously
Done
But equally, we are all undone

It's not even funny
Though I'd like to laugh
At such a bright sunshining irony
Which glows like orange leaves at noon
And stays like casting skys of over
Until the day is at an end
I'll know and laugh overly
Almost glowingly
With you

I have lost the thought
Which once was mine
And in remembering it
Cant
Even begin to describe
How frustrating it is
To live and not find

At least what I thought once was mine

For some people
Life just happens

They wake up next to their future and find
That they're already living it, already in it

And then there's me
And my ability to not even begin it

I am as unsettled
As a stretch of running water
Ever could be and seemingly ever (is)

Always moving
Never forward
Seemingly

These thoughts are but