the times we see,
my time is becoming narrow
on a slab falling shallow,
a demon waits in sorrow
demanding the unknown
unleashing the newborn
as it spreads and mutates,
I can't describe it's nature
or where it even comes from
but it flows as the damn clears
and all nature seems beautiful
all things common and familiar
the "no" is aware and stubborn at best
clinching onto the repetitive past like a pest,
missing the moment,
wondering at best,
just who will last,
and who will play best with rules.
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