Change

Turning and turning in a gyre
Of overwhelming thoughts;
Forget dulcimers and lyres,
Those imaginings will make me tire.
These words all seem so similar,
Falling out loosely, disconnected
From any reason, the listener
Begins to twirl hair distracted.
No, no, I will not digress,
Will not make like Prufrock
Of discordant phrase, without rest.
My words rely on the clock.
It ticks down the sands that pass
Counting away moments left to speak
And when the apologies begin to rasp
You'll wonder if I'll be done in the week.
People run from the frame of my mind
Like figures in stop motion animation,
Jilted, searching for sanity to find
It floated away long ago, with imagination.
Why do those faces change
When untruths arise, thus unrecognizable?
I know you may think it strange
But it is incomprehensible.
It is something we avoid:
Those people who drift, away, away
To an obscure void;
Leaving you to think of saccharine days
When there were no cares
And no agendas piling on like cement.
Baring souls like displaying wares
Is something not to lose for a cent.

And yet, all you heard, was this lament.