Can’t help feel like I’m endlessly expanding, still
These poor eyes don’t comprehend the beauty presented.
Yet we’re expected to understand the unique matter
Within one another.
Washed away pools of blood coated our streets
Specks of dried skin swept off our floors
Every new horizon met with anticipatory glory is
Constantly met by childish laughter
The cosmos are our playground,
Yet we lay in the sandbox
Of our minds,
Of our childhoods.
The arms of the man
No different than those of the clock
Stationary, while semaphores
Signal meaningless motions
Move forward, charging head first
The feet are as flat as they are mobile
Heels will slam against the wet Earth
And hands will get clammy.
Fear not, there’s no need to
My hands are empty, feet blistered
And I am fufilled and filled
With purpose and the land’s anguish.