Every step away takes the whisper of foam further
Each decisive turn becomes a haunting at 4am
When the dry branches scrape the window, releasing the need for rest
Once a home with music and magic and laughter
Now dodge the echoes, no corner to hide
Comfort, no longer desired, packed neatly behind flaps of cardboard
Until time demands it has decayed into scrap nobody could desire
I watch dispassionately as the fury flies around
Once collapsed in exhaustion, tucked neatly into the ashes
To rouse again and again with every reverberation
Are facts indeed a prison
Wardened by the idea that an empirical best practice
Removes all free will
Leaving only errors for humanity to celebrate
Imagine lying down above his rock, The rock
Will you be crushed by the hope?
Or is it a freeing kindness to embody the futility?
Use that energy to prepare for the future
Which will never again be today