I write to console my heart, that cries foul in the face of adversity
That knows that life is limitless and unfair throughout
Dragging through the rung, the mud, I wish to learn a lesson or two
But what for, if my final destination is death itself?
What do I strive for but gentle, supportive company
To hold hands with, while sitting in the waiting room.
I am waiting for my calling, but I am restless too.
Words are over my head and my writing is leaving me behind
Everyone is leaving me behind.
I may be a bit slow but God knows I try
I always have, to match the pace
To turn the corner at the right time.
And yet I see you merging into horizon, some four and a half hours ahead of my sunset
And the internal struggle, to keep calm.
Nothing works. And so I write to calm my heart which cries foul at the adversity of life.