I wish I could be lifted up
and away with the winds;
Above the world;
above its woes -
Nothing but the ticking of the clock,
the irremovable blot;
the ceaseless movement forward into
All The World's A Stage...
Twisted with guilt;
bleeding more than dry lips-
I’m up to the hilt
Flowing, moving, rushing, running through our veins;
the breeze that uplifts the leaves is gone, again.
The force that spurs the moon, to work the tides,
to move the mighty seas.