there's grace in mind
and one can only hope
our lives in kind
come free of all these ropes
looking unto sky
the rumination din
ever asking why
the scenes we're living in
free trembling hands from
our contemplative brows
humbly unto contact come
reanimate somehow
the dreams that make our spirits sing
ever amid horror reel
away from what this living brings
we never chose the deal
or did we in ancestral tones
at past or future places
shrouds perhaps unknown
obscure all our failing traces
and in some soft assured way
the tired, lame of heart
shall laud the vacant kings of day
they tear us all apart
no matter how these times fly by
confounding
within is where the truth resides
resounding
