There is no flight

There is no flight

We are pedestrian

The spirit is not upon us

Unless splashed upon the rocks

There is no freedom

Weight of indifference

Is as suffocating

As drowning in one’s own tears

Oppression a monster

On one’s own back

So often self-inflicted

Even guilt is tarnished

By association with the denial

Of responsibility for a truth

So often ignored to fit

The narrative of victim

When we are all subject

To the same laws of nature

Should we fly

In the face of all we know

Is a question of convenience

An answer before the fact

There is no objective truth

Of what we are or may not be

As anyone can see

There is too much

Of the mundane

In language

To fully represent the meaning

Of a feeling in words

The essence is all squeezed out

The zest of life

The emptiness of disease

Too intangible to grasp

Inhabiting a thought

Describing its process

Measuring its progress

As it sinks through the floor

Flies out of the window

An attempt to catch the wind

With a keep net

Treading in water

With concrete

In the hole of your soul

Chained to the sea bed

Chasing after rainbows

In a cloudburst

Whistling in the dark

Instead of screaming.