Swirling around in the maze of life,
Fingers clawing away at the stockade all around,
The hearts solemn cry stuck in the throat,
Life surely seems to be slipping away,
Hush! The sound of the struggle of life,
Rising up to crescendo as portent noise,
Bathing my soul with everlasting turbulence,
Chaining my being to a life of sorrow,
Run away my soul to nature's home,
To the place where the maker meets the made,
Plant your sturdy feet in her nest,
And find succor for your troubled life,
Solitude rips up the inner man,
To come face to face with his physical man,
For to understand self must come examination of life,
For not every sound is a call,
And not every noise is there opportunity.
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