Shadows,
I can never see them clearly.
Rising and falling,
Never defined for more than a moment or so.
Mountains turn to dust.
The ashes blow through the stark landscape,
As the rest of this world is crushed.

The sun shining through the trees,
Leaves me feeling incomplete,
Because I’ll never feel the Sun’s heat for myself.
So what do I do?

The wind blowing,
Across the plains,
Between the trees,
Alongside the rain,
Leaves me feeling incomplete.
Intangibility never fails
To leave something to be desired.
So what do I do?

Rocks, at least, don’t ever worry themselves.
Oh, if I were just a rock…
Living could be defined,
Among other things,
As a necessary chore.
Maybe I’d remain hidden
(not that you’d notice).
And I’d remain scared
(not that you’d care).
I’ll remain forgotten
(not that you want to remember).
I’ll remain…