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Opening my hands up
was never so difficult,
when I was young.
But now as the joints harden up
I can only raise fists, my fingers fail.
Weighted, no more luminous form
no more dreaming of flying
until I am dying.
And how much is my new fearlessness
a product of morbid fear of holding on
and losing my head to a form, but
second-guess your own heart
and cease being human.
And maybe your new is so obvious,
yeah the darkness it comes from us,
we monster Us.
But knowing this, brings such empty rewards
feel superior holding yours but offer nothing new
And I know we're not built differently,
because I too see clearly yet I must resist
And you say "don't be surprised by what you might do,
you could become what's been done to you."
Have we earned/learned so much only to give it up?