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