That I could or couldn't control,

In this piece of earth I inhabit,

These awesome dreams make me happy,

To think of the journey toward it,

Is this the start of a series?

Looking to the sprint ahead,

As death knocks me down,

Time and plans do not match,

These bouts of silence,

Always appearing every weekend,

Creases and lines offer no ideas,

Is this the part where I'm supposed to,

I need to keep moving,

With this nonsense and mud that's around me,

In all I think I can do,

I don't want to go on further,

This day I stand up,

So tired of this unending grind,