Swans of Glass

I'm speaking in tongues,
slip sliding across the glassy world.

Lately words just clot. 

I have these dreams, 
but I'm far too wide awake
to be near enough asleep. 

I'd like to build promise, 
and make words into worlds;
make worlds into the words 
of 'better men'... whatever they are. 

Lately words just clot,
and the thought of love just hurts. 
There is far too much happening, 
and I feel anxious, I feel overwhelmed.

The world was once beautiful, ornate swans of glass.

Now they have shattered and I'm having trouble 
to see all of their pieces. 

Right now, I don't know why I write, 
perhaps I need to find my way back to life,
because it has eluded me for so long now. 

Lately words just clot. 
"I love you" is not enough.
And when responsibility is no longer ours,
who does the earth fall to?

A great man once said that the world is a dangerous place,
not because of those that do evil, but because of those that don't try to stop it.

Can I be so indifferent? Should I become so dangerous?

The End

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