Yearling Low Earth Orbit
While we fixated on the forest
tonight, i'll be walking through the brushfire
because here the dark means everything.
All I hope is that we're ready for it,
alone, a single voice without the chorus,
and here the words mean everything
I guess, yes I confess,
that i'm a child orphaned, abandoned,
here, waiting at your steps,
to come inside.
There's always a change,
it's never the same.
Spinning out of orbit faster.
Washed out in the wave.
Reaching for a suitcase
as we spin around.
As the cessation of the twilight
provides the telescope through which I untie
my illusions misapplied,
here I bisect a great divide
between the endeavors of a lifetime
and good intentions gone ary