• Since time gave up on me,
    since wars were fought,
    kings have followed me,
    and now I've forgot,
    the past within me,
    I once thought had rot,
    nothing is wasted,
    so I couldn't have thought,
    watching the seas pull on the feet,
    walking on nothing,
    and scaring the deep,
    the waves blocked the ocean,
    the sea swallowed by land,
    nothing foretold,
    yet in stood in my hand,
    strong the right hand of mine is,
    the arm the channel,
    the shoulder the gate,
    the wrist the conductor,
    the elbow the switch,
    the energy doest spiral,
    yet to control it a little,
    I have to give it a form,
    because everything is beyond them,
    and time has given them up,
    beating the heart of the planet,
    beating drums of animal skin,
    food of the natural cycle,
    and the whimsy of man,
    nothing is stale,
    what is not rotten,
    waves of life corrupting,
    and blood tears are falling.

    Have I not seen it all?
    Has nothing become my tutor?
    To answer a question so simple,
    these words will not show.

    These words are not a simple thought,
    Nor is it only for attention,
    I seek hopefully the truth,
    and only I can read it,
    Stand not the test of time,
    for which man has given life,
    for time is a simple thing,
    that I have many cast away.

    Food is not an apple,
    but what makes he blood flow fast,
    sickness is only human,
    when will of another creates a path beyond a grasp,
    I am standing here,
    risking my world,
    knowing I am letting ego thrust my purpose,
    still,
    I seek just what seeks not and what is,
    when words are brought to focus,
    I struggle,
    with current drama and ideals,
    common thoughts in common sources,
    trying to sort my thoughts from stereotypical to original,
    when what Ive seen has so polluted my awareness,
    and I fall too much when I put the rock aside only to trip on it in lack of memory,
    the tools of my mind cannot say what I need,
    am I truly becoming me,
    or is just false fantasy.

    I seek answers making these written expressions,
    answers that I know no one can solely give,
    when desperation makes me wonder,
    how is it going in?

    Rambling still now,
    I know people who will help me learn,
    from what I know this means,
    yet sadly I know,
    that it is me,
    who is speaking so endlessly,
    I don't understand myself,
    yet know two things,
    which I cant know within society,
    wasting words,
    on a sleepless night,
    using things I cannot see,
    and wondering so endlessly,
    what has made me...
    me...