When I cross the finish line,
It’ll be clear that mother nature has run her course.
Clairvoyance of the now, I can foresee.
A vulnerable reality.
For my meek heart only thinks in terms of accomplished disappointments.
There’s not enough ointment to heal these wounds,
Mind buried in a tomb,
Beautiful soul, ticking boom!
I cannot control what is meant to align naturally.
And everything I run from seems to boomerang back to me.
I guess every time I close my eyes, my dreams are meant for me to see.