Or am I weary?
Or should I be?
Awake and so unrestful;
It's like I never want to be.
But here I am indulging
In nothing that I want,
And so I'm satisfying
Nothing but a haunt.

Nothing here to grieve.
What have I to leave?
Alone yet much surrounded
As if this were a crowd.
I speak in muffled whispers,
Afraid to speak too loud.

Or is this living?
Or should I be?
Existing in suppression;
I'm fighting all that's me.
But here I am, a new man,
Old, and yet so young.
And so the battle rages
With songs yet to be sung.

I find I feel a fleeting thing,
A worried thing, a sting
Every time I find myself
Beside a youthful spring.
It resonates, reverberates,
Incarcerates, and baits
All with what intention?
On my nerves it grates.

All with answers.
But why afraid?
It matters not that waking
The dreams are there displayed.
So sound again the trumpet
That calls us all to arms.
With sword of tongue I'm fighting
The word which from me harms.

Oh, what is it I'm missing?
Why feel this way tonight?
Tomorrow fast approaching,
And bringing morning bright.
Has hope forsaken purpose?
Has purpose failed us all?
When will we meet existence
Untainted by the Fall?

The title
So soulless chosen words.
The writing
Just catharsis
Unknown like raging herds.

A cacophony.
Our one end.
And so we walk this weary earth
Seeking our lost Friend.
We search the faces of the young,
The beautiful, and pure.
But He is not a woman, friend,
So look not unto her.