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Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Embodiment of Lies

A toxic mind
All the illumination therein
Lacerate the seams
That stitch together
This daydream
Spill your blood
For the one that shuns
Speak secrecy
With fire on your tongue
Dislocate me
From fermented fascination
Excruciating captivation
With nowhere left to breathe
Suffocate me
In ties to never
The time I've wasted
The breath I’ve tasted in your arms
Don’t hold me
So I can sink slowly
Down your scythe
Hope and hell and embodiment of lies
Embalming the light
That lies within
That witness in you
a fight I cannot win.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Stories

you come to me
with your head in your hands
stand on my doorstep
with your voice
soft and endearing
asking for vision
losing sight
of what’s meant to be
and wrong and right
how do I know?
when you still can’t see you coming to me
after all
asking to catch as you fall
I will

keep my distance
withdrawn and patient
I can offer my smile
in exchange for yours
and the reasons
never enough to notice
me resting quietly on your decisions
you come to me
ignoring
all you need
so cry for her
I’ll teach you how.

In My Pocket

What I want
Is only mine until I get it
Never satisfied
Breaking habits
Breaking ground
Standing firm
With what I’ve found
On the frontline of my own life
Patterns illuminating
Escape from brain waves
And unseen forces calling my name
Melody swallows
Sounds clear today
As the rain falls
And all this noise
Dissipates with choices I’ve made
Static blurs the slain
Sounds clear today
On the frontline of my own life
what I’ve seen
and who I’ve been
all mirrored by decision
a picture in my pocket
I hold with those that lost it
along the way.

Friday, March 23, 2012

Won't Soon be Forgotten

You invited me in
The choice was made
a gory grin
hidden behind your viscid
saccharine words
the pieces are still littered
Try to sweep up
The lies you tell yourself
And what you tell
others
The splintering truth
Left shaking
Belief in your intention
I was granted such naiveté
Your buried malice
An axe designed to lay its prey
Comfortably and sweet
Before the decapitation
The choice was made
Premeditation
The truest sacrifice
To maintain this infectious charade
Like poison in my veins
An ominous beacon of revenge
Now shrouded in omniscience
Rings true in the end
Because you don’t know
The level of my own
deception
We have become one
Desinence has dried
at the corner of my lips
Nothing can change
The choice that was made.
So sleep well tonight
With a noose around your neck
Blanketed by your facade
I hold the last maniacal laugh
Close to my chest
In darkness
And a locket clenched between a closed fist.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Inexorable Recognition

Metronome antennae
Sways lazily back and forth
A foreboding silence
I watch
Intrigued
Searching for the meaning of this transcendent realization
Time is running low?
As is my trust
In these long shot signs with their subtle meanings of profound glory
“i’ve discovered the meaning of life!”
No
Its just the rhythm of time
that shifts this antennae through my thoughts
This empty mind
As blind
as it may seem now
There’s got to be a way out of this hopeless tunnel
Somehow
I fumble down the darkness
Arms outspread
searching for impossibility
Brail will help the blind
I’m left only to find
a scene too promising for me
Too good to be considered
Lost souls have driven their hearts
Pounded in chests
And pennies in wells
Twin fates intermingle and coincide
But only for this passing place in time
Can it ever be longer than a split second chance,
Or does it always have to end with a slow dance?
With notes of music displaying the triumph of trounce
Floating over the ashes
In another desolate burning room
That permeates the scent of time
We are so desperate
So vividly blind
But when the incessant tick of metronome vocals lay tranquil
I hope to play our music loud and dance with our trials.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Furthermore

My moon
Has many hollowed out trenches
evident
by the pull of disappointment
and the weight of such gravity
but
If i so ever were to call upon you, moon
To shine throughout each breaking dawn
I understand if you respond
With impossible
I will wait For the night
To reflect onto me
As your furrow takes to leveling off
This horizon
will disappear
and you and i
will rise and fall
For tomorrow
And the day after
But with each new moon
you see through the shadows
to me
mark my path
Light my way
And i will hold your heart
for all to see
i will hold your hand
As my own have taken to a red hue
And i never was much for
Wearing shoes
So i will not run
But will you walk with me?
Over coals of fire or water or sand
If we so ever slip down
I’m here for the wandering
The finding our way back
Because These traveling feet
Lead not the way out of
And away
But into
something deep
For we will always get lost
Until darkness descends
And my world is yours to illuminate
my moon shall not cast upon
An impossible embarking path
As each new dawn breaks
As long as we stay
this way
we’ll find our way back.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Sightless Society

Gossamer veil of living shrouds the blur that separates lies and sinning, suffocating, sitting. Departed, allow the exiled to march. Teach the blind the way to survive this dark. Peel open your eyes.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Generational Ecology and the Influence of Technology

The educational road begins with early learning as a foundation to pave the way for further progress of our society in its entirety. I believe somewhere along the way, this ideal has been tossed to the shoulder like a McFlurry container you can drive by down 1-5 near Sacramento. This ideal is now rotting and will soon dissolve into the rubble with which it was thrown. However, there is an element of hope. What today's generation needs is equatable to the proverbial court ordered inmate with one of those jabbers on the side of the freeway. But, you see, this type of community service won't be sticking it to trash. Rather, searching through the next generations litter to find the turnaround in regards to intellectual ambition. I hope to be one of these "inmates"... but my outfit will be way cuter. So, I have just recently started working toward my A.S. in Early Childhood Education. The following is a discussion topic my class and I were given on the Ecology of Childhood:

To look back and review the technological evolution that has developed over the past 50 years is truly overpowering. Today, technology is literally right around every corner and in the pocket of most the people we pass on the street. The innovations of the internet and cell phone and, more recently, the combination of both are just slivers of the technological changes that have occurred over the years.

The gap between generations is widening due primarily to these leaps in technological conformity. The number of those in contemporary society that do not have an X-Box or iPod are overwhelmingly slim, when looking back at the childhood of our grandparents... they had a radio. That's it. Our parents were lucky enough to score the generation where an 8-track player and an Atari game system meant you were living in the lap of luxury, speaking in terms of entertainment.

The accessibility to knowledge and education alone has affected the present generations viewpoint on the importance of school, career, and general aspiration. "Convenience breeds apathy." Apathy to what the aspirations of the previous generations consisted of: the golden rule, for starters, and the simplicity of wanting to learn in order to be qualified for that stable job to take care of a family. Presently, Google (and all the answers therein) is literally at the fingertips of anyone with a Droid phone. This being a reality, there is no concept of paying attention in school anymore. "What's the point?" screams today's generation.

The societal changes over the past generation of our grandparents and parents, I believe, run directly parallel to the technological revolution. As the slope of technology steepened on the proverbial generational graph as time marched forward, the periods in which the families, schools, and communities were affected are all different but very much the same.


Families are no longer connected the way they were before computerization managed our lives. For instance, the dinner table in generations past was the epicenter of the value of one’s family unit. Families would actually speak to each other as opposed to hitting “like” on their father’s latest facebook status. “I ‘like’ having dinner with my family.” Send. Not the same! Not so long ago, communities actually formed together for rallies or picketed for a common belief. But today, the majority of activists vote online with an electronic signature through a website designed to take a stand against or for whatever the commoner fights for these days. A right to low low prices and imported coffee beans? Who knows. As technology soared over the years, our society in general has involuntarily learned to take for granted just how easy it is to live in modern time.

In the days of even our parents, but emphasizing the age bracket of our grandparents, the values that characterize each generation has slowly depleted into what we're left with today. If we look back at what our grandparents belief system represented it may be closer to that of what our parents were instilled with but there is an unmistakable gap between what our parents were taught and what has been transferred into the next generation.


For instance, when my grandpa spoke out of turn to my great grandmother he got punished—and it wasn’t time out. Not that I agree with this form of disciplinary tactic, but it does stand to reason that this may be why my grandfather, and his peers, expects and gives respect as though it were innate. As we move forth down the timeline, my mother was raised by my grandfather and she rebelled as though it were going out of style. My grandfather couldn’t control her so she was emancipated at sixteen years old. Why didn’t he use the same method his Mom had used on him? Generational differences is what it all boils down to. Generational differences brought on by environmental influences that directly coincide with the authority of specific and modern collective norms. There has long since been the debate over nature vs. nurture and this just goes to show the latter takes this one.

This brings me to the present generation and the values that are represented by today’s shared outlook on what is to be expected of our youth. There is a dire lack of motivation towards education among the populace of adolescents. Technological advancement has bred the sense that the next generation is essentially teaching themselves—the blind are leading the blind. If this is, in fact, the case I wonder if teachers can team up with the AT&T corporation and develop an Ambition App to provide the youth of today’s modern teens with the sense to be excited about learning again. As farfetched and comical as this hypothetical option may be, nothing is as out of reach as it seems. If you don’t believe me, I bet there’s an article on Wikipedia.

Monday, August 15, 2011

One Single Day

Experimenting
Bending moralities line
Is it just a lie?
This reflection summoned and ignited
Within the depths of my being
I can’t believe what it is i’m seeing
Fleeting
Moments gone astray
I’ve longed for this day
Asteroids, stars
And galaxies implode
Across a dimpled sky
As the answer rains down
In a dimension where time is no more
Just look what it has found
My souls biggest secret
Recognition of a second self
Floats on the brim of consciousness
Daring to be let out
Though once it is set free
And the appearance turns to
Gray
A piece of me
Will stand no match
To the void it will catch
as blank stares review and walk away
Would my soul have been mistaken?
Or the universe has a game
To juggle time
Blindly
Lead our path between different trees
To plant new seeds
And the forest will live beneath
 a roaring sky
Or everything we’ve planted will die
 in an assortment
Of barren disappointment
Burnt down by the very passion
that shot up from its roots
This world
never stood a chance
with one single day
where nothing now can remain the same.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

I am

I am, more often than not, the youngest person in a room at any given moment of my fruitful social life; but as misleading as this may sound, I’m comfortable knowing the person I am while waiting for the company I keep to realize this as well. Age is relative as is size, not at all in shape, rather the proportion of the brain in relation to the conversations we make. Whether it be between white walls and dimly lit garages or under our covers or while snaking through traffic; the words we choose and the opinions we form make us who we are, regardless of the year it says on my driver’s license. People—they always say the same thing.  I’ve come to expect the shock. Now this is not to say I’ve done my share of growing, just that I may have been born into the wrong generation, or quite possibly, I’ve simply neglected to shed the perception of a previous life.

Speaking of, I have finally decided what my afterlife will reflect in correspondence to my spirituality and, dare I say, faith. I had a dream I was met on the other side, with my True-self. Upon my arrival I encountered various parts of my spirit, as embodied by my physical identity, though each represented a single facet of my character. I recognized my jealousy, my anger, my doubt and conceit. I met my determination, my belief, my patience and altruism. And as I walked, the person I am in this life will have to reabsorb the parts of myself I admire as well as the pieces I do not yet have the strength to abandon. I will meet the best and worst my spirit has, in order to guide me into the further growth of who I am to become. But as my spirit matures throughout each new life I am given, eventually I will wake in that blissful place. Free.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Trust

The grace in her eyes
And the bells ‘round her feet
Ragged stare
A longing
deep breath
But the cost just wasn’t enough
to verify
or vilify
the step it would take
But her weight
shifted
And she followed her  through
An empty space
No color
No window
Just a sense
Things would change
The gypsy led the march
Up a staircase drenched in white
A right
Of passage
To drain the ashes
Gone to stone within her veins
As they stopped
At the top
Gypsy pushed the wall into a room
just as vacant and colorless.
Two footprints
marked with mud
stared from the blank boards at their feet
They faced the floor
Blind in the sweltering light
“This is the mark of a life
left behind.”

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Taking

Pretty matter
With ribbons tied
Symmetrically
And all the things
Money can bring
And growing up
Is for princesses
Not kings
Though inside the man
There is a boy
Tied in pretty pink bows
Bound to a party
Where no one will show
Just send a check
Or make it two
I have my prize
It’s in my smile
And it didn’t cost a thing
But brushing my teeth
And that’s enough for me
these shoes provide the map
to mediocrity
as it’s called
but the middle of the road
is better than the shoulder
as it’s cold
on nights like these
maybe the bow will put off some heat
until its sold
for a heap of solid gold
to pave the street
there is no detour
for you, my friend
and a dead end will run circles into a pen
and cage your tired soul
until the wandering stops
and you're alone
i will jump the fence
let the beach
and grass
climb upon my bare feet
and toes
and sand will mark the time
it took for you to realize
the difference in our roads

Saturday, November 20, 2010

echo

Unspoken things take flight
From under this wing-
Foresight
and a menacing wave of dreams
peel through the film of my lashes
through the smoke i see the ashes
 
dawn is cracking
With an echo to bleed the deaf blind
A withering glimpse
At a different descent
The inevitable passage of time
A rift of light
Falls through this space

We lie
while we lie
With heaviness upon our form
Tangled in naked warmth

Vivid in the muted stillness of morning

Illumination scatters upon loose lids of these eyes
Opened to define
the limit in this light
a smile painted on your
patient
sleeping
face

(Awaiting awake)

this flutter twists to trepidation
forget what i know
dig deeper for what i hope
to find
 
 
this fathom i’ve sought out
i’m still looking for
 
i find myself restless under pillows
i step to the floor
and this faint of fog is burning off
quietly
i stumble over your words
overturned in search 
those vaguely obscure
simple silent sounds
draw nearer to me
an unspoken perception
blanketed by hope and weary
 
from a peripheral place
i see a door
swing heavy to my left
 
ignition through curiosity
i stand once more
where i stood before

a timid walk
through the threshold of this door
brings wicked
familiarity
clarity ... 
we walk
alone
lucidity and me

i never was much for titles

Of all the times we’ve spent between
The lines of wrong and the lines of grief
Splinters of hope
Like gum under my seat

Wading in Waiting

I find myself lifeless
and tethered to a thin web
by stale wrists .
This twine
a fragile network
of an intricate descent.
 I look down to the waters below
the depth  that will swallow me whole
... inevitably.
I wade in discord
within a mass of air
so thick with
unease
from all these things
left unsaid.
My fingers have grown weary
upon the thought of slipping down.
Impatient and defeated
in the dreary days of waiting
I fight to take hold of what once was a rope.
With so many facets of this collapse to consider, 
they are only reflected by the crashing tides
I wade above. 
I feel the tension loosening
within my grasp
as I inch closer to the
intensity
of ache
that strains towards me.
As long as I’ve spent wading and waiting,
I feel I have no choice but to let go.
My only solidity
rests in knowing each stretch I fall,
I will always find myself.  
It will be wet.
It will freeze me to my core.
 And these bones will thaw,
 just as surely as it was I to drop.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Under

And the places before
You sailed
Solitary
Though you were not alone
ever
I can feel the shift  
That defines this path of tributaries
through the stream
that leads me
to your sea 
I contemplate
Past
Present
providence
And hope
time passing by again
As a course
That must be run
As the sun drops slowly
to the horizon
And i realize how deep i have sunken
The grace under waves
And the pain
Stacked high
Rocks to raise me above
The stones that have been thrown
And as a river
They gather in pools
Shallowing conviction
Softening slowly spinning  to sand
And pushing through the hourglass
to define
This passage
And brook the precedent
that isn’t mine
what is
but a blink
not enough to sink
the ship i jumped
where this current will take me
where will it leave me?
beyond  the torrent of
reticence
Reveal the knot
Grounded in sand of the past
weathered with tension
still tethered
through so many waves ago
that bind your ship
from dipping
over the sinking sun
Drag the current to the water's edge
landlocked
Cave the sand in dots
mark a path
with footprints
i cannot follow
or match
as the tide sweeps clean
and as the match ignites to a flame
of indiscretion
i will
make a stand
poise and cuff against the flood
i will
crumble
already thrown ashore
I’ve found my place
i quietly descend
under the face of the water
i sit below
as the drift takes me home.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Dear Fathers

             Recently, I have encountered the misfortune of reading Wade F. Horn’s article, “Promoting Marriage as a Means for Promoting Fatherhood.” The piece in particular describes exactly what the title suggests: marriage is the most important means for keeping fathers involved in their child’s life. Though the idea seems practical enough, upon further consideration, I found myself running over pot-holes along the road Horn paves with persuasion to the idea that marriage is the proverbial glue keeping the family unit intact. A detour presented itself in the direction of what seems a far more important (and obvious) matter we should be directing our attention towards in regards to promoting fatherhood: What is a Father?
            The real problem facing men with children is that some men cannot even answer this question correctly, let alone, portray a moral image for their children to follow.
So, is a father a card on holidays? Is a father a babysitter that lets kids stay up late? Is a father a vacation from discipline and homework? Where have all the answers gone?
            In the past, the answer to fatherless homes rested in their checkbook; fathers were assigned as cash machines rather than role models. Then if the fathers do not have the means to pay such “support” their licenses are revoked and wages are garnished which, aside from breeding resentment, only sets the father back further from even providing himself as such cash machine in that without transportation it becomes increasingly difficult to get to work to make the money to provide. Child support is not the answer. Fatherhood does not have a price tag.     
            I believe we each can recognize the lack of monetary value attached to fathers, but most fail to see the real problem facing abandoned children: fatherhood abandonment. In the text, Horn’s answer is to promote marriage outreach programs for troubled couples and certain similar preventative counseling to ensure divorce never emerge on the horizon. This idea is erroneous. If any preventative measures should be taken it should be within the correct territory of the issue, that is, preventing the abandonment of fatherhood to ensure the abandonment of children never emerge on the horizon.
            It is very simple here, folks. It makes more sense to promote fatherhood as a means for promoting fatherhood. Instill fatherly values in our boys so they grow up knowing what a father represents to his children, regardless if the mother is wearing a ring on her left hand or not. Socially, if the common person happened to see a little boy playing with a baby doll he or she might react to such behavior as bizarre, when in reality, these mannerisms should be responded with encouragement and be positively enforced as we do with girls. Instead, we train our boys to work, to be the money maker, and to lay  the proverbial hammer down in the cliché that Father’s must rule their household with an iron fist in order to gain respect. This is the extent in which we teach our boys to behave in regards to family. This is a flaw in the way our society portrays what a father should be. The only answer to, not only fatherless homes but more importantly fatherless children, is to teach our boys and our men the importance of bonding and nurturing.
            Nevertheless, a time machine has yet to be invented so we are stuck with the current crisis at hand. Currently, there are some men with children out there that, no matter what the circumstance (married, unmarried, non-residential, black, white, rich or poor), simply do not bond with their child. They do not find the importance in building such a vital connection since over the years fathers have been used as merely a financial backbone and nothing more. In the text, Horn describes a strategy for alleviating the financial expectation from fathers by advocating enhanced visitation as the mechanism for improving the well-being of children. This is a splendid idea, however it rules out a possibility that I find so piercing it simply cannot be ignored—the increase in fatherless homes is due to the fact that some men simply do not want to be a father; they do not have what it takes be a parent. Fatherhood aside, parenting in general is hard, but what is not so hard is giving up. It is easy for some fathers to decide not to be a “real” father and to brush their children aside as they would stained boxers. So the idea of increasing visitation among these men that do not want to be  a part of their child’s life would clearly be horrific. Research on disruptions in early childhood attachment figures suggest children are worse off having known and been rejected by the father than if a relationship with the father were never established.
            This brings up the matter of cohabitation—the issue of men living in a home with children that are not genetically connected to the man. The text states cohabitation involving biologically unrelated children substantially increases the risk of physical and sexual child abuse. So, cohabitation is going to make a normal well-minded man into a child molester or sadistic child abuser? I doubt this means to provide such an accusation, but it does perpetuate the stereotype of “the evil stepfather.” Unsurprisingly, this only worsens fatherlessness in that it seems the men that actually have a grasp of the substance behind the title “Father” get clumped in like cat litter with the statistics of pedophiles. Horn masquerades a ridiculous attack on good men that I believe deserve a lot more credit than the article offers. Stepfathers have the ability to put forth a healthy male presence in a child’s life that the child otherwise would not have. The text fails to reveal the positive statistics on healthy blended families and opts for smearing good men that are raising and accepting children that are not biologically linked to them, though still very much their own.
            There seems to be a subtle competition between non-resident fathers versus in-home father’s (a category in which stepfathers should be included in, as well) in regards to authoritative parenting—that is, listening to the child’s problems, giving them advice, providing explanations for rules, helping with their homework, engaging in mutual projects, and disciplining them. Authoritative parenting is shown to improve psychological health in comparison to those children who were not offered such parenting; however, this type of parenting has been socially pegged as the mothers job. This puts some men in the position to step away from the most important part of fatherhood, the teaching aspect, and allows them to escape parental responsibility. Being that this role is a woman’s niche on a societal as opposed to family specific role, the circumstances of non-resident or live-in fathers is just as irrelevant to fatherhood as is marriage. A man is the father he is regardless if he is living with the child or not. Negligence has nothing to do with the geographic location of a father to his child.
            This theory drops a nuke into the lazy boy recliner of all the men out there that feel justified with their absence because their failed marriage is now the scapegoat for their guilt; however, this absolutely proves my point in that we should be focusing on teaching fatherhood, as opposed to marriage. So, sorry Wade F. Horn (if that is his real name) promoting marriage as a means for promoting fatherhood is as logical as promoting war for means of declaring peace.
          The truth is, one cannot attach a definition to what a father should be. Within this certain family role, there are too many components to consider which make all the grey areas some people fail to take into account, impossible to concur.  If we as a society can promote nurturing of education, positive behavior, health, and compassion, I believe the bond between father and child will evolve into a structure of boundaries and safety that children crave. Fathers should provide, not only as a financial backbone but a backbone of support and reliance in order to shape their children into  kindhearted, gracious people with a good soul.
“A man's worth is measured by how he parents his children. What he gives them, what he keeps away from them, the lessons he teaches and the lessons he allows them to learn on their own.”


Friday, October 15, 2010

Definitions

Smoke spins circles around my head
As blistering as the air I ingest
My vision grows blurry with thought
I breathe in the night
My ears ring with ticking
Time
I need to write
This color blends
I bend to make light
Of each new dawn
Nearing closer and closer to the edge
And further she goes
Down the line
Drawn to define
Ones character or ones ulterior
Motivation is lacking
This time
Blends too
But I will not
Into you
As I am more than what
you've seen
Inside of me

oceana

How amazing time is.
How fast and for granted we take it.
We ride through like a wave,
sinking beneath the surface
sometimes.
Unable to swim, or cope, or speak.
And sometimes we float.
Atop the cold glass-like window,
looking down upon our trials
pass by,
relieving gasp of freely breathing
underneath the wave that sweeps us eventually to the shore
of our demise.

Miles Away

Pavement slips quietly
Rolls through underfoot
    These wheels seem tired
And doldrums live up to its name
It's       all       the        same

Through a spark
I see
Something calling
To set me free
This heaviness i hold
Between thumb and forefinger
that’s all she wrote
A daydream clings to me
Seems light as a feather...
Beside my smile
I drive this mile
Waiting for a collision
Clarity tonight
Seems I’ve driven over a muse
somewhere along the way
I will pay my dues
One way or another
     In my rearview
     I point out a direction
A path I’ve been down too long
And I feel wrong
But I feel
This air seeps through a crack somewhere
Deep breath          I sigh
Taste the hours of darkness
In its glory
I drive happily
Backwards [slightly]
My mind restless
Entangled in impossibility
Will you ever find me?
On your own concrete
I feel like myself again
 In moments I recall
I feel like I’ve driven straight for a wall
Stalled engines wait
for a green light to release the night
into my life just one more time
I will breathe you in
Over before it had a chance to begin…

Li²


This blinking cursor
Is judging me yet again
As evil as narcotics to its dealer
Just as precious these pages are to a lonely writer
Untitled and diminished
This story is not my own
Untarnished
Smeared in light
I’m terrified.
A sense of familiarity
I feel the strings
Wrap around my wrist
As I walk as I think as I melt into this
Precision is impervious
Interfering
Unrelenting
Content
Feels as foreign fingers to brail
And sightlessness has always had me
Under its thumb
Numb no longer
It burns in my being
Settling comfort I can taste so sweet
This impossible
simple spectacle
That has blurred my vision too long
I now hold precariously
On the smoothest edge of my palm
Split decisions in split conditions
I will sway towards the storm every time
A chance I find refuge at all
The beast in my soul
Has been cleaned has been boiled
Swept from my memory
Grit and grime have polished to gold
And I hear what I am told
But the faith has diminished in this blithe
These soles have been pounded
Through tunnels through darkness
From end to end
I’ve uncovered a gateway
Fortuitously
All its own in time
It has become my own
And this is mine
Though just where I can see
Every blink is counted
Every footstep forward is marked on a path I can be free
From these ties
This bond meant to destroy me
It will save me

This way