But I guess it has to be done.

But I guess it has to be done.

As it seemed important

But every time it was within my grasp

It slipped away

Without an apology

Perhaps it was nothing at all

But for a moment there was a stirring

Of interest

From beneath the low drone

Of background noise

Some people never hear

But at times is so loud it drowns out

Every other sound

Squeezing all the available wavelengths

Into an oscilloscope

From whence there is nothing to be heard

Other than an ionised ping

A pang of regret for not listening

To the birth pains

What happens once they are born

The thought occurs

How many unformed theories

Have their origin in escape

Too slippery to remain within the confines

Of a single consciousness

They drift from one person to another

Looking for a home

Somewhere to grow

To be nurtured

A socialist collective, a kibbutz,

Is everything too easily discarded

The process of development too demanding

When there is a life to be lived

With boots on the ground

Is there any time left to chase rainbows

Why do all the dreamers have to die

From oxygen starvation

Canaries breathing methane

Game birds

Shot down in their prime

Never given the time of day

For lungs to expand

Dismissed as degenerate

For not standing in line

Waiting for the clock to tick over

Marking the time

As every new day brings about its own end

The air filled with the ghosts

Of an idea

As so many people struggle

To disentangle

One thought from another

The search for a common cause

Goes on

And in a moment of positive regard

I remember, to forget.