Left.

Run

The fire burns

Run 

The voices, they say 

They say 

Only what’s heard 

Not done

Not done, yet

Convinced we have other plans

Seeing other settings

Not conveniently present 

But, not consistently moving ahead 

 Do the heavens above have beliefs?

Do countless people worship our mercy

Mercy, flaking off the shoulders of any sins

Any brutality of any kind

A undefined time 

Holes in a boat 

Sinking, sinking so slow

Ragged stones

Thrones of unprecedented mimes

Our speakers-speak 

Our allegations, weakened 

Aren't Lethal

Not foreshadowed

Not forgiven

Wrinkles in the saturation of sweat

Sweet moral victory 

extravagant celebrations 

Worthless of meek imitation 

All the ordinary

How it’s been 

How it’s kept

Heaping glows of feasible regions

Open features and heroic rescues 

Curtains, low

Simmering heat on the break

One thought

One source

One's own knowledge in the fate 

In the fate of misery or justice

In good or health 

How do we move ahead?

Tensing space and little air left