The softest whispers of
Past ideas, and inclinations
Postulating long ignored dreams
Of long dried progenitors
Upon which we now look down

From the mouths that pour out banal well wishes
To the frozen digits, attached to architects and engineers

Most come to understand the past lies in fragments

Crucial details overlooked, time and time again
Lost amid a sea of bleak optimism
Futurism has its place, along side the winds
The ones that bring the same tired tides

I've drawn myself yet another line in the sand
The definition is as lucid as I could possibly be
Maybe a reflection of identity
It keeps shifting

Stepping forward, though unsure why
Commandeering tidal waves
Building bridges between figments in the skies
Attention drawn
To the edges of half way signs

"Onward and forward", the dead still proclaim
Long after the earth is packed
After death, so many still remain, if for the moment
Apparitions, spiritual possession of discourse
Tearing away from the pale, and digging deep into the fresh crop

You'll be gone soon enough
Into the standstill, though
The dead see it differently

Cosmic mistrust, a classic case
To free yourself from the very shackles
Blood had prepared you for, oxygen raised you for
Natural order now spurned
Floor to ceiling, ceiling to walls
Connected them seamlessly

What are you still fighting for, now?