Moving forward, perpetual motion,
The pendulum has slowed of late.
Incrementally saying less than we should.
Faux intervention sets the pace,
The flow of left to right, now noticed.
Movement savoured, shortsightedly shortens,
We finally tap the glass.
The truth, our perpetual mentor.
Depleting the power of the tick,
Enforcing the reach of the tock.
Location shifts the problem perspective.
Two irons rails, our only lifelines,
Discovered security, fever for each other gathers.
One eye canvassing for leaves.
Unmuffle our voices, unruffle our feathers.
Excavate our petrified hearts,
Simplify our needs, multiply our vision.
Periphery play is mode, with goals now spurned.
We sympathetic sycophants focus on each other once more.
COPYRIGHT PEDRO BATPOET 2018