Blurred edges and a cloudy ideal,
With intangible thematic and numbed feel.
Something’s here, something lined with wrong
A distant voice. Faint yet Strong.
Something that matters and is built on high
my perspective of others that soar and fly.
Luck and pathways and innate ambitions.
Crystalised moments of stony decisions.
A glass ceiling and a burning sun
Clay wings and a smoking gun
But the rays are mental, the ground crowded
And everyone’s quiet. Why has no one shouted?
A wheel rolls and comes around.
Enough time for It to be found?
Faster and larger the cycle becomes,
With fewer and faster beats from the drums.
Tighter and tighter the coil turns
Amazing my mind learns and learns.
Fewer beats and a depleted well
Time to dig. Morals to sell.
Blurry is comfort. Cloudy is secure.
Keep safe from that inner lure.
That dangerous voice lurking deep inside
That thing from which you constantly hide.
I am careful approximation.
Non-defined. Little specification.
I hope I never find that voice
Surfacing confrontational choice.
Senses dulled and eyes dimmed
Colour neutral and claws trimmed.
Slack your thirst on diminishing returns.
Don’t stop or else it burns.
Meanwhile those brave few
Flying on wings fashioned from glue
All the luck, everything’s their way.
I read 5% of what they say.
But I’m content, I’ve learned to adjust
My expectations, my trust and lust.
And I’m healthy, just ask the crowd.
Just don’t ask 10 year old me
If I’m proud.
[Sent privately with permission to share]
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