On this hard floor
embraced by four walls
illuminated by the product of
electricity and money.
Pulses run through every neuron
much like electrons in a copper wire
and yet, from myself no light shines.
For my thoughts are as lost
as one molecule of water in an ocean
Try as I can, there is no agreement
between my soul, my heart, and my mind;
the hook springs away from the eye.
My hands do not speak, but I look intently at them as if they could.
No limb will turn and tell,
as no other being will, however well
their will should be.
'tis I who must choose
knowing little much about anything, but enough for my heart.
To drown old pains - or perhaps I am deluded
like a man too long away from home
will desire even the most mundane of memories
lest he should finally
be at peace.