it's something
The night ends early, though early may seem late.
Moving of control, from the thought to emotional.
What varied ways, in changing, yesterday's joys, today's sorrows, and tomorrow's somethings,
when hope is intermingled with external inspirations,
an environment without power, excepting within.
and within seeks without, return to old locations,
to see unknown faces, uninteresting options, and unwanted games.
Bringing me home at this time, or perhaps to drunkeness at another.
When return from elsewhere, lacks the events assumed not likely.
And hopes in the afterwards expected to be slim,
wanderings through likelihoods low, or maybe expectations,
though, seeking the best, not feeling at home.
If all lies inside, I wait for next time,
accepting the usual, in missing perfections, at least after sleeping, the earlier to begin.
And alternative actions, toward productive matters may keep, what means more,
forgotten for later, though using of reality by aftificial elations,
is there more to be had in dream's infatuations?
By truthfulness, or persistance, or letting go, or staying.
Some path may be stumbled down, leading to some unknown, final destination.
Though the path being the answer, and the joy being the moment,
perhaps I trudge in a swamp of my own making,
when forgetting the surrounding opportunities I'm forsaking.
Moving of control, from the thought to emotional.
What varied ways, in changing, yesterday's joys, today's sorrows, and tomorrow's somethings,
when hope is intermingled with external inspirations,
an environment without power, excepting within.
and within seeks without, return to old locations,
to see unknown faces, uninteresting options, and unwanted games.
Bringing me home at this time, or perhaps to drunkeness at another.
When return from elsewhere, lacks the events assumed not likely.
And hopes in the afterwards expected to be slim,
wanderings through likelihoods low, or maybe expectations,
though, seeking the best, not feeling at home.
If all lies inside, I wait for next time,
accepting the usual, in missing perfections, at least after sleeping, the earlier to begin.
And alternative actions, toward productive matters may keep, what means more,
forgotten for later, though using of reality by aftificial elations,
is there more to be had in dream's infatuations?
By truthfulness, or persistance, or letting go, or staying.
Some path may be stumbled down, leading to some unknown, final destination.
Though the path being the answer, and the joy being the moment,
perhaps I trudge in a swamp of my own making,
when forgetting the surrounding opportunities I'm forsaking.