Why Am I?SPG
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Why am I Always circling in great languid arches Hungering far above some compelling nourishment I can never quite make out Only smell, at the edges of my emptiness? Why do I Set myself to carving the relief that I would have to be my life When all I’m really doing is busying my hands With things I have a sense I can control Until the chisel slips again? Why must I? And on again... Why do they Draw you in and closer still Letting you believe that they will never leave And all is safe Until the very moment that they do And all is done – some as though it never was? Why dare I Dream again of passion without harness, saddle, bridle, bit Charging through the fields of truth And stopping only at the very breast of mother earth herself To take refreshment? What fool am I So foolish boy with foolish dreams and foolish ways Tussling on but leading nowhere Spilling out into the morrow, all arms and legs a-topsy-turvy? When do I Reach the end of all of this In this life or the next?
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