I feel like an old man, trapped in a young man's body.
One side screams to end this toil,  while the other awaits these lithe muscles a'turn groggy.

It's strange. And conflicting.
To be youth and feel wise, must scream contradiction.

Tho it's my unquestionable foolishness that i think i call wisdom. For i've chosen a fight what needs constant conviction.

And more. I must tell my eyes not to see, that each leap and each step is too great for me.
Yes, i made the last, but the next one's still greater.
Not one step, not one. Was made for "the maker. "

Nor mine, that one half. My 'father', fled from sight. Far from divine.
Ironic his job role, to be of system design.

For, at brass tacks, thats all i am too. I look at what's broken, and think how to renew.
Compost is just waste, so i look to the rest, and i know insufferable can create that what's blessed.

A part of the whole. That's all we can be. One some level i strive for yee and for me.
But that level is high, its where the cloud reaches. Where the order of chaos comes from butterfly speeches.

On this level, My Plane, the stage where i act.
Its for those that i Love, for them alone do i act.