Shift, Part 2

Continuing on talking about change.

Black sheep living

blank sheet writing–

tongue is this pen,

You had me weighed in,

Two doors open for you,

Midnight chats,

Fireside burnout thoughts–

Better, worse or worse then

Both is to forget–

Scattered are these papers,

Brown is this coffee, cold but

Better than no good,

Stale are the memories of

The past, at times they don’t

Seem to last,

Famous me wants a new strategy-

A shift in the West, for how many

More promises are there to move

Towards a great shaking,

A great shifting? I am to

All over the place to know

Any better but quitting will

Be the quieting I need–

His voice breaks the cedars,

His voice gets unclear when

Its mostly not Him-

Tongue is a pen,

Write me in that book

Of Life, don’t take me out,

But pull me through the pain

Of waiting, of not knowing–

For back then,

In that hallway again,

Double doors again,

Big windy city to the right

Side of these dreams,

I am the shift,

I am the rift ready

To crack, I am the

Lack that is needed

To keep moving forward

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