The True

Wow, two-year-old work, really symbolic.

I.
In love and in doubt,
we stray from the former true,
when physical and lost longings,
rise anew.

In truth and in denial,
we are called from our pasts,
to the point in life,
that ever lasts.

II.
What tangent is spun?
When we make a right?
Wrong choices, what are they?
that we resort to primitive flight?

What have we seen?
to cause this call?
What have we lost?
when we cry to our fall?

III.
As will the bird, in anger, fly,
the true, the true has fled!
As will the storm, in calm, return,
to finish off the healing bled.

As will the river, in rain, o’erflow,
the true has infiltrated your ranks.
As will the sea, in size, push against,
the power will erode its banks.

As will the sky, its massiveness dictate,
so love will command the forces.
As will the bullet, in power, warp,
so the riders will command their horses.

IV.
If I have lived these things I say,
nor felt the pow’r contained,
I will not be called to this,
but rather will stand detained.