A drowning seed
This feeling is an art to me;
This chill in my arteries
Living large isn’t hard for me
Cos a mask isn’t stark to me
I’m surrounded by stars as an oddity
That shine in my eyes so it’s hard to see
But I see them all simmer with an art of glee
And it’s so damn hard for me to breathe
But easy to heave as I try to breathe in
This humid air of our every evening
I’ll grieve but stop just short of weeping
And yearn to learn from the urn I bleed in
I plead for the day that I’m free to leave
But rise every morning just to be appeased
And deceived by these yearnings I need to feed
And to burn these urges that I supersede
To know how conceited I need to be
To be freed of this heart disease
But I believe that this life I lead
Will gift me with a breeze before I’m deceased
But how long must these knees bleed?
How long must I just breathe
While I tremble with the pain making me abstain?
How much do my lungs need?
For how long must I be a seed?
I’ve been pleading for ages to be the making of pages
And to be seen on stages far greater than these
And that’s the life for me
Cos I’m meant for greatness and to grow in stages
Not abating rages or to drown in phases
But while every phase brings a new disease
It seems I will never grow to be a reed