Upon What They Rest

Upon what the paths rest, we know not for sure

Always the hurried feet may not heed the undercurrent

Sometimes looking behind or looking ahead, way too far

Carrying the precariously balanced vessel of worries

Time pushes the journey; the skirmishes from resisting time

If there was any reality of engaging with a fallacy

Cagey eyes vision the world with a hostile intent

Seeking a therapeutic potion concocted by the clumsy physician

Much sought after for the effective hallucinations

On can knead the dreams to a clumsy ball of woes

All that is done by the piqued mind with incoherent ideas

Calloused feelings emerge from the feeble heartbeats

None can sense the mood of the ways that are laid out


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