504 (09.11.2015)

The rounded wind it howls out in the tree,
We sit inside as safe as passers by,
And do not hear the flutter of a plea
Or understand the slightest reason why
We bow down to the will and then repent,
We stumble on the back of fortune's wheel,
We feel the rack upon which we are bent
Yet do not understand just how we feel.
I burn for clarity at times at night,
I long for a solution in my mind,
Just a little voice to say 'Alright.'
And let me know I am not deaf and blind,
I long to slip my neck out of this yoke,
I long to stop my thoughts and tell a joke.

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