With my head on straight,
I hear the trees falling
with no one around,
for I am no one.
They do, in fact, make a sound.
With my eyes seeing clear,
Just another choice
just another day
just another voice
just another play.
Not enough time, not enough love,
not of enough of a reason
to keep trekking through the mud.
Not enough words to nail down what
you're thinking of the sinking
and the rising of the flood.
Too much silence, too much disguise,
too much of nothing, too many sweet little lies,
too much of something I can't recognize,
too many angles of mysterious intent.
Too much to wrangle, all my patience spent.
And yet...?
no idea what this is supposed to mean. It just felt good to write it.
