Flowing rhyme and grassy slopes go brown.
Replaced by simple words and wanton meter,
As unreasonable as the world they inhabit.
A wonder that they make sense at all;
More incredible that meaning appears.
What reason is there to this way of living?
The lines get deeper, the eyes get greyer
And I am still alone, hunched over my keys
Wondering what the sky might look like
If I could stand up for a moment and regard it.
To look without seeing and to forget immediately;
To give that which we do not possess ourselves.
That is our manifesto; our code of honor.
Many must sacrifice much for each other.
Is it the natural way of things: to miss the roses?
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