mean reversion

static state, the world is good

we could not ask for more

but people always should

scraping up against the door

possession is as blight on us

both want and need define

what cynics like to call our trust

the heights to which we'll climb

to find it and then hold it close

a maelstrom in the head

a healthy mean revision dose

for what in heart is dead

we shape and mitigate space

comfort and the mundane levels

at which we render grace

it's just another hoard of devils

from which we turn our eyes

truth indeed hurts most of all

though some just don't surmise

the gravity of this soulful fall

the universe is patient still

there is no hurry felt

too soon the soft parade is killed

for time is thus compelled

to come again to simplest terms

my insides bleeding bright

your reversion to the mean still burns

my eyes as horrid blight

fall away as ashen dreams

we know just what they are

nothing's ever what it seems

within, the only star