If it’s about you then I will not continue listening. The ratchet scream just oh too much to hear. So ill the fate to be caught in analysis and reason. Sandwiched between control and abject fear.  Cannot let go your hands are fused together. The polar price a charge between the ears. We are left still to imagine our next nightmare. Where all that’s gone will be hashed out through the year. Next Step, windswept, family kept just won’t accept. Some loss, provided by the boss, as rolling moss grows greater with each toss. Let it go was your mantra of the morning, but by midday your will had turned to sand, along the way a dream or two were broken, shattered upon the rock we chose to stand. Cannot be helped, it’s all so polymorphous, changing shape and identity each turn. The mind is whole the body known as corpus, meant to us that we just couldn’t  bear to learn. So on the shelf we sit with waiting pleasures and bide our days leading into longer nights. All represent the not too drastic measures will be evoked to exercise our rights. Gone is the fog and the frog that leaped right over to windy shores and mighty fields of clover. To sleep on it we draw our paws asunder, as lightning shakes and peels in crashing thunder. The moors forgive but the river is forsaken by all who pass into the wishful past. Too bright to live to much energy to last. Gone is the night and forgotten by the morning the day begins without giving dawn its warning. And we are stretched by attitude of mourning as our hearts dim to the content of our sins. We recollect in the objects of our laughter, twice intersect the past and days come after. We entered dreams and found ourselves convicted to play the roles we’d invented for the king. Our righteousness and hope were both constricted and held in check by the old song that we bring. This new life waits and does not come for calling, stand up against all our hemming and our hawing. No excuse is born that meets content’s charter The veil is torn you’ll have to pray much harder. To be heard we’ll have to stand in patience, to seek that call by attendants of the throne. For after all when the wind has all stopped blowing, In His Great Palm we will never be alone.