The rhythm and the remedy;
Come so far, still not where I want to be.
The muted bells,
A dead peel,
No sound.
Just a cold emotion.
Telling of a different man.
By the absence of their call,
Of hope manufactured.
The geometry of his world
Now fractured,
Where nothing is reclaimed
Only lost.
Fluted white glasses,
Yet no one is blamed
As they are trod underfoot.
