Sweet gutter flower,
Blue petals above the grate,
So much beauty
In a world gone wrong.
O tepid Intelligentsia,
Vapid friend of misconception,
Rooted in all we see.
Cornflower in the grate,
Blue in the sun,
I face it's singleness,
Pure in a way we can
Never be. A blessing
In which I'm not worthy,
Yet I take anyway.
On a night when truth
Seems fleeting,
A dream at the edge of waking, I can feel
The question forming,
And the answer So far away.