It's Just Talk
The stone upon which I graze
Rumbles under the strain of being asked to be what it cannot
I’m so tired
I can’t decide if I should be a man or a violet
The many moods of a soul search
Is like a record that skips with no audience
Motion without progress with no end
And in the repetition it fails to see what has become obvious
The nature of man is as varied as the garden he tills
And in the pursuit of his destiny he cannot remain an island
For what can a man save if he laughs at all that God has made?
Yet if he considers the varnish of anything but his own mind
Then he has lost everything to mysteries of measured reason
Without a feeling of unconscious consciousness
And with substituted observed phenomena of movement all around
He screams at the rock that erodes under his hopelessness
It doesn’t feel good to be on your own
There is no longer a day to ponder this kind of question
But what man can lead and at the same time be in need?
Only a man who can be passive and violent in the same expression
While the bullets of manhood are shot until the smoke vanishes
While the petals of purple passion dreamscapes peel off the bandages
While the past floods into the memory of a future that may never arrive
While you see what carried you was not your greatness but God’s desire to keep you alive
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