The Ladder

We bleed freedom, we bleed music, and we,

My friends, are beat. No blood for art, No blood

For purpose. Making a living just to be.

Repeat. Repeat. Become another dud.

One step at a time, not a top in sight.

We’re reaching fabrication, filling heads

With pay and play; clutching at sweet delight,

But mocking Death when he loots every stead.

Cherishing nothing for something daily,

Virtues rise from jitters and out casting

And woe sprouts from worrying ferally—

Add cunning ploys of pensive daydreaming.

Now, seek the ladder and give it a shove.

Transform. Transform. Become the thing you love.