and I wonder if perhaps there is another world outside my own,
not speaking of country or earth,
but of the need to be loved and the fear of time passing colorless.
and i shall be a bird one day,
once I grow into my skeleton - or sedition - whichever my mouth allows.
there is a sky outside my window that insists on being alive, wild in its protest to deterioration.
it sort of reminds me if myself, only vast in its knowledge, while as I am always in search of reason around the next meal table,
fork speared into the prime rib, daring us to imagine life without death.
the planets spin and warble to the beat of Gods veins,
and I wait for the answer to a question that should never have been asked.
and now I sincerely apologize,
for the end of this poem was chewed off by my induction to reason.