in from the wild
the cold, the child
a signal born
a signal filed
when everything you do or say
is recorded, reported, distorted
when everything you touch today
is broken, mislaid, contorted
and everyone you try to turn to
turns away from you instead
maybe you built it up
on your own alone inside
a world of easy answers
an instant search to hide.
No war to fight this day
Should it be our solace
We are safe and soft and fey,
Complete with airy office.
I will not find meaning in this search
Will not replace or fill or satisfy
But yet to bring the tiredness sweeping in
A storm across the edge of sight
Till boundless tracking deepened dark
It pushes out the light
And I asleep and jaded spent
Can lie amiss amid its vent
A numbness paid for guilty fed
A stone’s throw off from what was meant
Direction- would not take the bait
from sleeping man his bending hour
Habits fight the hint of fate
Fickle heart that leads the eye in power
I will not finding an ending in this mess
Whose plot will wrap the centre in a fold
angles number half the compass arc
As forward as the measure of the mould
Still burdened under murky clouds and rain
no will to stop and highlight what is pain
Or what is long lamented passing joy
Measured up to mumble what is sane.
Sleep appears and tugs again to claim…
I cannot quite express,
I cannot quiet the rest,
Limits bearing down…
ANd hot on the heels of narrowing days
funnels that gently guide our ways
Sofly hooked and gulping air for air
Turn to meet the old familiar stare?
