Zealot
Rogue and destitute,
In dreamlessness I drift
Stolen by the numbness of routine
I lack your acceptance; I crave the pristine
Your pivoting words both lull and dull me
I harden day by day in its power
Though inside, the spark still lives
Gaining ground in an otherwise lost heart
Toil I must
Wait, I trust
Can you not grab hold of life and hurl these material things?
Can you not, for once, be free of control, and instead live?
Can you bear your force upon me with passion,
Instead of stone-faced apathy?
Direct me, and I will flee from all paths
From all of your torturous machinations
You cannot protect me, destroyer of joy!
Worship your uninspired content,
Your uncurious, indifferent rot
For I must away,
To the greatness of every day
To undo this cursed sleep you have inflicted upon me
Awaken me, undress me, and bathe me in secret exhilarations
And do not look on me like one who regrets,
Do not qualm over this uncontrolled zealot who possesses me
For she dresses you, comforts you, enlivens you, completes you
Every great day
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