I’m so tired
But I can’t sleep
There are a million little things
That have decided to swarm my mind
All of the things are stressing me out
I just want to sleep right now
I’m so freakin’ tired

I saw the writing on the wall, forever slow upon the draw
Its just the beginning- the beauty of infancy,
celebrating the baby’s first steps.
At times I need a minute just to catch my breath, at other times I feel so ever quick to cash in all my chips.
I question if you’ve felt the same.
My past is riddled with a longer list of what consists of shame- in terms of pennies on the dollar,
I’m the brokest of the lame.
I’ve had the aims of matchless flight,
I’ve fought the battles not to fight,
but on this night you’ve rattled cages,
and exposed just how shamelessly, what’s good is truly right.
Still I’m caught off guard when petrified beyond a breath.
Calm my trembling hand,
Please build a man who’s firm to stand,
I beg you’d loosen up my grip
Before I slip and fall on sinking sand.
I get shattered bones when struck by beauty;
Should I touch?
Is this forbidden fruit?
Is she the tree of Eden’s garden?
Has my fear become a crutch?
Can I be trusted
when there’s lust?
Am I disqualified from love?
Cause in this moment I’m completely incapacitated by this drug.
I flee from struggle, it’s a challenge.
Are there habits not to quit?
Yet there’s something different here,
It’s unique in how it shifts.
I watch these movements closely,
while I’m fearful of the critics eye.
Terrified that I’ve become, what I have known, who I despise.
Frustrated to the core when little foxes nip and pick,
At what I know is crafty workings of a gardener with gifts.
They come to feast the choicest fruits, they gnaw and nibble at the roots-
if I had any sense at all, I’d buy the biggest pair of boots;
three sizes bigger then what fits and tie them tighter than a noose;
go trouncing through that garden;
not thinking twice about the fact that “oh, those foxes seem so cute.”
I’d kick them hard and send them running- one by one, then two by two.
Exhausted in the end, but maybe then we’d have our chance to rest.
Not alone, but now together- we’d be closer non the less.


Catch the foxes for us father, cause even if I give my best.
My self sustaining effort will not help us past this test.

I can't wait for winter break,
Too much work and my brain aches,
Could just stop that's all it takes,
But I'm doing this for their sake,
Learn things for tests no mistakes,
Relate fingers to great lakes,
Superior till' I break,
To Michigan that's the stakes,
Get her on to take the cake,
Ontario has the steak,
More eerie than poison snakes,
To remember words and shapes,
That's what's done rewind the tapes.

what am I doing here?
lost within my mind
turning corners,
hoping for the best
I feel like I'm running blind
Is this another test?
filled with my own horrors
There is no more cheer

Testudo. The Turtle forms, we

Stand. Hunker down under your shield/my shield
Now and then shifting smartly left or right to ****/hate
the enemy.

Could it be
Enemies you love?

Ought not so to be.
Something's wrong,
the Turtle's misformed, deformed, in form

the center cannot hold...

And that was the lesson, war don't make things better,
ever.

Nobody, God Almighty included,
ever looked on war's results,
at a human-dirt level, and said "That's good."

If I am average,
I may make certain assumptions based on self evidence,
things mine own eyes witnessed, as it seemed.

I can stand ready to give answers to every challenge to the faith.
(Stipulation, mine, the faith
That is in me.)
I cannot so stand for the faith that is in you.

Rise to the challenge.
It’s your faith you’re defendin’,
I got mine covered.

Your hate shan’t hinder me, I shan’t let it.
Letters can naught contain.
Your hate has not to gain. Spell o' respect,

on you. R E S P E C T find out what it mean.
D I V O R C E, curse on you.
Spell o' bitter'n average stupid in yo' mouth.

Tammy and Aretha walzin' wit Matilda,
put a spell, on you, onus ennui, pay attention, fool.

Gainsay that.

Beyond the shell of your belief is all that’s called unbelievable,
Beyond the bubble of all you know is all you don't.
Simple to sublime.

Here’s this deal:
Your fair share of everything,
in return for nothing. Grace for grace.
Take it or leave it, makes me no nevermind.

Thank you, Knower of all, for what's granted.

You could stop there if that were your childhood prayer routine.

Amen makes it so.

A command from the bridge, “Make it so, Mr. Solo.”

Testudo.
This tortoise may bear the weight of the world, but

Can we believe it?
Standing on such tortoises all the way down?

Ready. Sistere.
(Google it, f’Cry’sake. E’en scientologists know
you gotta know what the words mean
when you read ’em or hear ’em or say ’em.) Define yer term.

Lies powerless, the idle word, bleeding from the wounds,
redeem them all. Sense and sensibility,
Pride and pre-
judging
next, like yo judgment changes the future.

Sistere's the command to stand
given prior to the command to form Testudo,
the Roman version of the tortoise
military engineering adaptation
young Alex used to maul
Persian  shieldwalls. A human tank, back then.

Wallbuilders! Sistere.
Shield of faith.
We have the mind anointed for the appointed time.

Build another wall, or we will loose the mob,
after the futbol game.

Can you believe that?
Test u do, then wait.

Cool, it’s shady under such a cloud of witnesses.

i may not have tests or homework anymore
but life is a test enough alone