There are nights when I can almost feel my mind slipping through my fingers one intangible bit at a time
Where the dust seems to swirl in patterns vague with predictions of failure
Where the wind whispers through the trees of the fears I'll never face
chilling the fragments of my soul to submission
On nights like these I remember myself and the hopes I held
I remember my goals and the paths I've tread
I've seen my mistakes in the mirror
Eaten and drowned my efforts in failure
On nights like these I cry.
But no matter still life breeds hope even if it be born dead
I'm unerringly different and walk with my head,
Mother Nature calls me to her chest
Luring my consciousness with glimpses of freedom and rest
So I crawl back to the cradle I was birthed,
My cycle is near complete
For me it seems the beginning is a befitting end.
