Transmission loss is inevitable
With such broad spectrum distortion
Carrying a candle through darkness
Is a miner for gold
Or coal
Or anything that matters
To the lords of the underground.
But when I yell
It echoes back to me
Around the field
From the trees
From the hill
Between the buildings and back,
Which gives me motivation
To try again
Though my understanding is faint
As I watch a blowing bag
Floating in the wind.
Today it is not dusty,
Though a slight breeze comes on,
It is muggy and heavy
An extra 30 pounds to a person
That sweats through a shirt
With the mere though of lifting
An arm in toil.
So where do I sit
In such heavy silence?
At the crossroads
With a miner on my shoulder
Torn down ligaments
Effortlessly gazing
But with sharp eyes watching
Everything being lost.