What is with this life where the eye darts non-stop, involuntary,
Each thing that it sets its sights on seems to pull me
Into a deep void, larger than the objects that I objectify
I spend days and nights dreaming of them
They pour words into my mind that my mouth cannot speak
Or my fingers cannot write, without cloaking them in mutlicoloured, overlapping veils
I am left floating in a tide, that pushes and pulls, as I spin and get yanked
Tumbling over the sand and small stones, crashing unto and into myself
They will haunt me for the rest of my days; blinding me to what I already hold
Tearing me away from the things that would actually hold me in place
Things that I have been taught to deem worthy, of effort and attention
But I am still unmoored, afflicted by deep sighs and cold eyes
As my imagination runs wild while my body lays inert
The head is whirring and fuming, the rest of it is an old sack of rice
At times I cannot help but smile, other times I do not understand why I sulk
My mood is the tide, attached to the dance of the many faces of the moon
So the beach burns its burning glow – a fire that will rage on.
