There is a deep sort of torment
Bread into my mind
A form that was shaped by
The trial of time.
Each swish of a tail
And predator's fail
Lead me down to where I tread
An endless desire to survive instead.
The beat of a wing; the pound of a storm
The sound in my silence weaving thoughts forlorn.
The weight of peace, the emptiness of hate
Molded the consciousness before and late.
The search for meaning for meaning's sake
It's one thing that no one can really fake
Germinated thoughts, hopes and dreams
For me to decide what it really means
