The flow of the water is harsh
When it gains speed
It's soft when it's stagnant on marsh
It's changed when the trees are burning as we speak
But, the water might drown us out and so will our mistakes
So, I'm precarious about cynicism
About time I find the right piece of me
In these broken places
Where there schisms and facsimiles of the same problems
My responsibilities are resonant with their yeses
But, my passions keep telling me to change-up
My pursuit is somewhere in between this mess