At what point do all these words.
Meld together.
Into some skewed finger painting.
When what was spoken.
Intended to relay something much more grand.
Action is desired..
Yet there can be no movement.
When the cataclysm has grown so vast.
Metaphor or not.
Ignorance has ceased to be blissful.
Just as life did.
This poor fool.
Never believed in a tomorrow.
The eyes can only witness so much.
Before they stop seeing all together.
Either from knowledge or the latter.
The only option one would wish for.
Is a warning.
Some form of flash or siren in great magnitude.
For I have missed so much...
I fear.
That I am the one lacking.