The world is buzzing
but I am soft.
The wheels are churning
but mine are stopped.
How long until I find my heart?
Oh, she calls from Northern Hills.
From daisies, wild blues, indigo flower—
far beyond the waking hour.
The cycle of my mind’s last wills.
I fight every day
but it just gets harder.
I call beyond my page,
people have such luck.
Her mind is broken,
how do we fix her?
And how to stop
her lion’s rage?
Tucked in the middle
of mossed hand me down sage?
So how to start?
Well, with her heart.
For that is all but tattered.
We bleed it dry,
to see her cry.
But see, none of it here really mattered.
And then, go on,
Oh good! A Song.
Tucked inside her sparkling brain.
We wrench that out, the medley too,
though it flits on through,
A soft jazz blue.
And then her head unscrews.
Her brain, oh now, we pray.
For shadows and dusk,
And beauty and lust,
Are all now dripping
On display.
She doesn’t fight.
We then move on.
Oh, there’s her song.
We stuff it back
in her brain.
And now the shadows
dance too and fro,
And now really, we must go.
She can’t fight back
her mind
again.
Not when a song
is all she knows,
it can’t pull
her back out and so.
We’ll be here next ‘fort
To do it all again.
Now she retreats
to her little den.
Proving she’s stronger.
She’ll last twice the longer.
Till we rip her up away
and so to say.
She’s here to see another day
Blue as the sky, and the ocean bay.