Respiro
emotion, that current producing naught,
the illusion of forward momentum,
as your feet sink deeper into the sand,
I set my strength against this subjection,
no fortitude was ever built by this,
stream of consciousness carried with the tide,
and on it goes like the words here spilling,
and running over the edge of the world,
is it really true that there's nothing new,
can't shake the feeling I’ve been here before,
as this liberty enslaving returns,
has it all been done this side of the sun,
by giving our feelings rights over us,
we are buying just enough rope to hang,
by ourselves, we are the Gordian knot,
at best a wound of unlucky numbers,
but one corporal in application,
perhaps in time I will find a tether,
harness myself to that which is above,
leave this body for that which is below,
I was a boyscout once, did I tell you,
if you're just going to stand by and watch,
a word of advice: always be prepared,
to rap my mind around this one refrain,
this melancholy will evoke nothing,
but show me to be a bird chattering,
belonging to its class, small and unmarked
Copyright © Luke Hobbs | Year Posted 2019
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