The art of saying nothing

Tides reset whilst on the move, No sudden jolts, keep it smooth. Watch the sun rise and set, No breaks - sun gets on with it. And lives are lived, and rest evolves; Cycles clear all must revolve. Though blinded by inherent thought, Our minds attacked by self-led taunt. When we're dead, what happens then? A babe in arms to begin again? Our only rest is when held and loved, Here rhyme collapses as it got tough. I'm in the middle of birth and grave; No point on journey I can be saved. I see ahead, such tight restraints, My flaws held aloft to view the taint. Despite no failure, I'm lost to cause, Stood stock still in lieu of pause. Funerals just highlight crashing time, I want to dance, feel my life is mine. No amazing feats with crowd approval, Just faith in self and hurt removal. With simple joys not denied a place, As I strive to carve out a happy space. I can't run from weights around my neck, Imposed hostility to keep me in check. Natural joy is my inner state, I hope nothing can destroy this trait. Learning to rest on the curve of an edge, I'll give it a try as I step back from the ledge.