Before the brow grows cold
lazy bones, bound in poverty’s grip
in a garden, where hesitation weeds grow~
filled with s t r a n g l e d d e l i c a c i e s…
a recipe of wisdom, never tasted
couched like a fly in an endless stupor…
abandoned in a ship, lost in the doldrums~
in a dark tunnel, where
echoes slowly f a d i n g
doomed to sail a sinking ship with no lifeboat
yet your arms can still push a boulder uphill~
so put your shoulder to the wheel...
never stop, reach the mountain's peak
sharpen the saw, dig for gold, tame white horses~
while sweat streams down your brow
for once you're interred in a grave
with nothing to illuminate the darkness
mountain of your strength will only enrich the grains of sand...
and fork in the road will give you no direction to choose
you'll just be lost in the maze...
like a deer in a headlight
as confused as a dog watching a magic trick
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