On the plateau I vacantly stride,
I fill this empty time.
Caring not for rain
Caring not for shine.
I possess an empty notebook
I possess the vacuum perched upon my neck.
Ignore it, and move on ahead.
Assiduous wreck.
There lies a broken compass
In the palm of my hand.
I smash it down into the sand.
A map so unused,
The energy confused,
This lifetime forever uttering old news.
On the plateau we dance.
And I strive toward nothing,
Towards the thoughtful hourglass.
Caring too much for now
Caring too little for the past.
There are many levels to this plane.
On the prairie, it is cats we tame.
I saw the steps, glorious before me.
And I wished to wipe this cold slate clean,
Of familiar and banal views,
This lifetime forever uttering old news.
Forever uttering old news.
