Placating that rage
Spirting the way of sage

Object permanence makes the mental sour
Idealists, the opposite dour

Listening to musical notes as they are sang
Battlefields of yin and yang

Yang's lost its credibility
That seas lost its crossability

The middle Way's middle point
The yin is to anoint.

Every day is another fight
With words twisted into knives
And sentences hurled like spears
I can't stop it
Anger lives in my like Lava in a volcano
Spirting ash and smoke till it finally explodes
I want to go somewhere else
But where can you go when everyone is so far away
My soul calls for freedom
Like an abandoned bird calls to its flock
But it never answers
And is out of my reach as the ledge of stability slowly crumble beneath me