Few Could Wake Before a Raging Current
Walking to the high mountains on a side,
I am perplexed before the raging current,
I don't know where to turn or run.
The truth is that I wander the sides of a street uninhabited by man,
The pavement overflowing with failure and sadness.
Take a look over the edge,
Take a look into the abyss of this world,
So stale the crumbs of rotten food.
The way the leaves whistle the call of a moon at night,
I call for you,
Too soon do the rivers merge,
As to overflow from merciful sides,
Fuse together the wood of a boat,
Sealing it with oil,
I will come to the docks at night and look towards the sky,
For it seems I can’t quite find how to light my torch.
Perhaps because I have known little else,
Other than the comfort of a worry,
Floating about the sea in the wind.
Don't wander out to sea,
Stay close to me.
Little does the world morph into anew,
Moreover the earth is real in its place,
Where I stand atop docks of forgotten men.
Again I stand before the currents of two rivers,
Conjoined at an end,
Asleep and unable to wake.
Dearest, you see,
I don't know which path to follow,
So I will take neither
The water that flows does not support but the weight of a single man,
The loose mud in-between growing ill and tired.
Few times does this section of land have infinite bounds Like the river ending in a vast ocean,
Instead I must remain trapped within the eyes of god,
This path is treacherous and foul,
The currents of rivers gain momentum as time passes,
Removing the option of wetting one's back with the lifeblood we all strive towards.
Put out your torch used to guide,
Replace it with a world so unkind,
For little can be accomplished by a man with eyes,
Or so I'm told.
For he looks out from the sea,
Seeing the light of a candle,
The exit of a river,
The darkness of a road,
And ponders its meaning.
So bleak and unknown.
Few could wake once again.