he had knowing dreams of where he was going all along upward he was swiftly growing the always certain hand of fate was ever sowing fields of poppies concealing secrets of the knowing
soon he forgot to remember that which he once knew softly trading certainty for a comforting clue now he is on his back staring at the blue with eyes forever closed to that which is true
Oβ how will his muddled gaze ever be wrested from the flickering box on which itβs nested given comfort as he is artificially breastfed hate those people and love these things is where he is led
so the cycle continues to turn until we coach the match how to burn birthing a new world from the communal urn ashes to ashes and with so much to learn
quietly he drops a stitch and skips a beat out of line, missing steps of society's feet absent fear of plans left incomplete he renders acceptance obsolete
he stands alone
Tightened up the rhythm to meet the 11,11,13,13, 13,13,11,11 11,11,13,13 9,9,11,11 11,11,9,9 4 cadence I wanted.