In the ever-present catatonic state of ' control '
I begin a laugh in the face of the irony that bests me
And now truly be faced with the coma I have
Begged to stay in for years
I arrive at a painful impasse of
truth and pain or lies, sedation and loss.
Without this choice, nothing goes forward
Everything stops.

As this seeming requiem for all mankind
Begins to truly beg my attention
I remember having perked my ears
to such before and perhaps even a glance
And for the moment at least I seem to begin
to see the necessity of getting its truth.
Even with the river only but a thought away
I find myself looking so intently at the sand
that I have forgotten how to avert my gaze.
With the late hours that come and go
Sometimes quickly and others more alone than ever,
I feed on ideas that make myself
a master of power that I will never be granted.

and in the air of what one must never mention;
i stand in the aftermath of my own hurricane
and utter the truth of years spent
burying the essence of that which i preach
as an open failure of that which
I knew better than to deny.
Sitting there next to the remaining
stench of what used to be known as joy
and lie in want of that which I know.

...Used to know Is more like it
I suppose I once knew it.

I spend my daily energy waiting to service
when Service will gain me that
which I seek...
Peace.

That's when my argument begins.
this is the closest
to peace I've ever known
but not that which I have seen.

and as such I feel defined by that which haunts
only the weak and I find myself
believing that my enervated hope is the death
that I seek in my waning understanding of
true peace.