noise . . .

noise

noise

choices

voices

bashing

crashing

lashing out

glistening

listening

trying to find my way

back to where i am coming from

chasing

facing

the uncertainty

certainly

with pertinence

in obstinate abstinence

is there a chance

we will arrive

alive

back at the hive

where souls are born

i ask my self this every day

where is the path

the way

i should travel

as i unravel

this mystery

laden with illusory history

of who i am

and who you are

and just how far

are we from the prize

i wish to realize

and vie for

i want to see

in my inner eye

and outer eye

before i die

in this illusion

you know

like right now

and they tell me

that somehow

it is all possible

plausible

yet i ask

is it probable

are we stoppable

adoptable

or croppable

are not we being harvested

nurtured

nourished

as we flourish

in some unknown garden

ardently expressing

confessing

daily

as we wail within

seeking

answers

and all the romancers

of this Stone

we call earth

where is the mirth

of the love

we have come

to expect

in the circumspect

of sum

as i listen

all i hear

my dear

is

noise

choices

voices

bashing

crashing

lashing out

© 8 June 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.