Induce, impair, despair.
Hanging on are the clouds…mid-air.
Dangling ever so present to the near by distinctions.
Promotions ever so wanting of extinction.
No true power shortage.
No fantastical outage.
It is us…
As we always have.
Happy on the short bus.
Tossing a heavy crutch down a bloated well.
Scars bury beneath a tussled earth.
Gathering impediments, brown and tan begin to swell.
Thus, commences lessons that only the unable can tell.
Vacant voices ringing in the ears.
The faces falling.
The lackluster fears.
An aching ever present but not often, accounted for.
Tethering a need for explanation…if ever such a way.
I would leash it around my weathered hand.
If ache be a journey…
What to give for a trip that never turns out as planned?