a catharsis of the mind...
I am left behind
until the well is filled once more
by the bride of the hiding
and the tide keeps riding
from the ocean to the shore
cycling and circling
lands we've known before...
Can the saving be the same
as the craving of the game
when you float firsthand
upon the rain, upon the sand?
Still begging for the name of
the hand
which fed you
sheltered you from the blue
the freedom to choose
or not choose
to be
to see
to undertake this living dream
before the experiment is seized
and the hypothesis, unproven still
forms a catharsis of free will
diseased by the need of
the turning of the wheel.