Retreating into former skin
When motivation has barred me
From the life I long to lead

To weave and weave daily
Would be my resting place
Ever complacent
And sure of the waiting horizon

“But it cannot be”
Larks from east and west
Fastening my limbs
To worthwhile voyages
Where I fall mute
And submit to the vicious drag

All I urge myself to be
Is lost in a lonely gust
Carted to brittle desolation
Where aspirations spoil and rust