Sticks
There are such times I wish for it's
Swift release, with utter peace.
Sweet, slow drift through river Styx.
As void and vacant as inert onyx,
Without so much as a precious breeze.
There are such times I wish for it's
Stream, a sea devoid of devious politics.
An ocean with no use for prejudice.
Sweet, slow drift through river Styx.
In a world that's choked by epidemics
And ravaged by rampant disease,
There are such times I wish for it's
Currents, coaxing and inviting creaks:
Where all world's life comes to wheeze.
Sweet slow drift through river Styx.
It all sounds okay, take me, my crucifix,
With a mystical presence, a cruel mistress.
There are such times I wish for it's
Sweet, slow drift through river Styx.
