The Mud, I Long It End

The shadows are nearing their loss E’en the rays are growing weak Foams darken as the bolt strikes A blizzard of drops I fear it is The prints! How far will thy end be? Hmm! I see thy mother, her tents- With depths about she scatters Thick and sticky they stand judging Soon fall my hope from whence it hung, The stream of gums there it may drop Yet ceaseless my arteries work Re-tuning my heartbeat’s pounds Issues cover gold polish- Like the body that travels white A curse it stamps on their souls Sinking the hope they pride on Quick to fail is my faith for the- Irony my thought feeds it with Can only get better, but worse- It seems and disheartening it is A once bad experience turns worse A tale, the promise becomes- Of a path so good e’en the- Festival ram would not walk on Well! Will speak well of what I- Want and expect that which I long- For, trusting an appointed- Time waits it drainage for a new track