If sorrow is for the poet,
Then mystery is for the dreamer,
I shadow a mince of swollen pride
It batters me
Like a mauling iron
of birth-stone and fire
I surrender
From time
and time again,
I select
A version of indecision so in-vain
I could barley sketch the sheet
or ventilate
Maybe that's all
Who knows
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 9:22 PM UTC
If sorrow is for the poet,
Then mystery is for the dreamer,
I shadow a mince of swollen pride
It batters me
Like a mauling iron
of birth-stone and fire
I surrender
From time
and time again,
I select
A version of indecision so in-vain
I could barley sketch the sheet
or ventilate
Maybe that's all
Who knows