This morning beneath the atmosphere
there is shining a sideways yellow,
through vertical blinds, casting vertical shadows.

I've been reaching again
for something too far away.
My wants are here in the bed I'm lying in;
I stand up and follow them into the kitchen.
I only look into the distance;
I'll never see what's at my feet.

One day we'll live by where they take us,
we'll live by what we say.
Because the truth is that what little is within our grasp
could know much more deserving hosts.
Because as I walk through my house, there's notes,
like I forgot some life I swore to lead,
like something's trying to patch close the veins
to keep the blood remembering why it's flowing.

I begin stalking through hallways,
around corners, and behind a couch.
I'm hunting for something that roots too far to feel,
its gears giving motion to my will;
some mechanism at work in the dark,
and in my sleep I can hear it whispering:
"You'll never catch me."

And it is there for you, as much as for me.
We're one step behind it and the distance is growing.
Because if it is to live that our hearts beat,
we are hemorrhaging.

EDIT: revised it a bit.
We're only strays.
Last edited by Martyr's Prayer at Jan 24, 2012,