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(Stillness) All is quiet, thoughts flowing down stream

Pick one if you will, yet all are fleeting

Defiled and disillusioned is the dream

An inherent sickness lies in seeking

 

Madmen chant their boastful hymns

In the still of the night, silence blaring

How did I get here, where are my limbs?

How do I stop these people from staring?

 

Am I mixed up too hard, or mixed up too good?

Have I stared too long at the sun?

Have I not learned enough or learned more than I should?

Should I bury my thoughts with a gun?

 

Questions, suggestions, perplexing collections

Marriage to an uncertain ideal

Searching for meaning, some kind of connection

A connection to something that’s real

 

Well formatted perception, perfect in candor

gives way to great revelation

But quick latch the schemers, the dreamers, the screamers

who pollute any chance of elation

 

Vagrant heroes made of myth

whom time has left behind

There’s no room today for the vagrant to pave

a path of noble design

 

So where does that leave me? Where does that leave I?

Are we not one in the same

If an end were in sight, I might make my flight

but what’s in an “end” but a name?