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Latenight Writing
Meaning has lost its taste
The implication was there to be made
Now we stand in a rode of one lane
Extending our arms to either side
We spun and spun
Till our feet no longer touch the ground
Looking up we see a figure
Of name we have forgot
If only we could reach and touch
One step closer and we would be found
But neither takes a step
Oh you fiend of many names!
How dare you break my pace!
We have faith but it’s impaired
Bubbling exhaustion
Can only harm another day
Running harder to stay ahead
The shadows now reaching through
How simply we are made fools
The road is becoming crowded
The flame is about to give out
Looking up we see a face
Will it be calling out our fate?
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