As for all workers, like I am...
were there the mornings?
watched meandering Aves did I?
couldn't see oranges of evenings
or the long falling shadows of night
For sure there was... a hollow wisdom
the frail but fake looking
suns gleamed surely forever
the preaching occasionally...
became self levitating lessons
There rests a soul in you, dead though
that can only mimic
the momentum of
this corporate jungle
might as well kill
that mockingbird, I
targets would still
be surprised, an art of you
the mask of darned lies
wish would drain in volcanic rain
I say I quit
I quit and say
do what to live
to live to fill
to fill the life
the life of small
and big o all
free to learn
to fly and see
the clouds of joy
and prancing woods
they lay in you
in and out of you.
