Born willing, fire inside,
Voice wailing “I’m alive”
Torn silence, punctured peace
Time feeling ill at ease
Bruised knuckles, bloody knees
Some learning never heals
Pied pipers peddle lies
Plastic halos, hiding eyes
Born willing, every morn
More able, more torn
You count up, or count down
Same story, different town
Warm bodies, colder parts
Winter ice in summer hearts
Born willing, smoke and shine
Stay with me down the line
We are born willing, eager, with our tiny voices wailing, and a fire lit inside. Conatus online. And maybe too every morning, we wake that way, back to the basics, with a load of coal thrown into the firebox, and bellows blowing air to the flames.
But are heckled by time, harassed by our becomings, tossed up by whatever sea we swim. It's not easy to stay hungry. It's not easy to stay open.
