Blocked by the Wage
Against penitent flame,
Encircling some foreign distance,
Those loved, we miss so badly—
They deserve more than the void
we left. It’s so sad to see
Some octave, trembling to step intact.
It’s sad to believe it’s so long.
Until bi-plane creatures commit
To a resplendent comeback; keep
Us here in the orbit of our dreams,
Spins agrace above our sighs.
And create the tides that oscillate
And pulse our nerves to stay awake,
When sleep commands itself over me
And renders me in dormant death—
The inactivity of the adult,
And the expanse of my soul,
Blocked by the wage.
March of the comeback, open my eyes—
Let me never fall asleep.
