swans.

aspiration;
oppressed by those who bound us down,
raped only by our sole interaction.
it's the last vestige of drawing your eye.
i'm blind to loneliness and regret.

upon this tabletop was when i first cried;
a soul left to wander amongst spirits,
all united in the chant of
"never enough".
i slept upon that table for days in a seamless dream;
swans passing in their infancy,
the sun slowly kissing the clouds away.

scenarios reek of youth,
where hours are spent in a daze,
where my slumber is scheduled,
where the mind is not impeded by the world.

and this is where i ask,
why can't i shake the hands of God?
our creator is not shy.
we spend forever traveling to his garden.