My mind is clouded with thoughts of the clockwork of the heavens But who am I to question the laws of our fathers Who am I to give this feeling a name But it won’t die I hear it I feel it, calling On the back of my neck A question unanswered by your brief dismissal By your curt reply to the raising of my hand It’s a question of life and death And the faint sparks that flicker in between There is a key You’re hiding it Hiding my way out A way to end the lonely uncertainty That comes with each setting of the sun It is a single thought cultured only in darkness, Where is the ether? Where is the fabric on which all else flows? The certainty on which to base this life This stretch of existence based towards meaning The more I search the more I am readily convinced of a steady constant That the clockwork I wish to drive my life is a hoax A dead apparition of mere wishful thinking The world, the cosmos The very essence of this driving force inside this body Is a thing so complex, beautiful and deceiving in its intricacies To see it work and flow without guidance Without a master Or something so crude as a structure Makes even the most lyrical of poems Avery travesty to nature herself who brings The steady and shifting moan of the ocean The force of the gale that lifts sea spray into the cold dead air Fog that lifts from base of the forest Filtering any impurity, stagnant and perfect In its surreal state To see the same sun cresting in a burst of color A new shade of perfection each day Leaving only its name in the form of an emotion All of this speaks to me Slowly coming light Beautiful clarity