If one is silent That life needs some editing If one is out of time That life needs some editing If one is within 4 walls That life needs some editing If one is in pain That life needs some editing If one is in dark mode That life needs some editing If one is out of a dream That life needs some editing Time up There is so much more Outside the box
all this time, i've yet to come to terms with certain words for instance, design, and all of its nuance how do i design in true when i am a shard of azure experience in the endlessness of midnight blue?
all this time, i've yet to call my good form to return for instance, my designs, and all the nuances -- the water drains, shallow now, from my composition, as if i'm the desert, when once, i was my own oasis.
reflection is a given. still, how can i reflect this ill in good faith, when the poisonous sick saw my leg up ascend into ruins?
Attentive student of the songs of birds, No beakèd beast hath e'er more sweetly trill'd A pair of notes or call'd in major thirds Or minor with musicality more skill'd. Adaptive linguist, practic'd in the tongue Of wingèd feather'd creatures, thou hast writ Into "The Birdsong Songbook" songs unsung By birds which yet harmoniously fit. And though the book began in higher throats Diversely tun'd by Nature's artful hand Ere measur'd were the times and tones of notes, (Which often rest them now upon a stand), Its finest lines (o'er which I now do rave) Witness thy penmanship on every stave.
My heart is never valid in the presence of panic yet I will still take a pen and drag it along paper as if it were a stamp of my own approval I will stay up late trying to make my screams sound like poetry tuning every octave of my pain into a rhyme