Buckets of Rain (written by Bob Dylan)

this is my sentence...
i sit in silence and cast
when will my voice arrive?
to articulate the tumultuous
emotions that persist
questions of time and sanctity
all I ever have are these moments
these fleeting moments that
seemingly find their way into
my dreams, how vivid
they now appear as I long for them
to rescue me from this chamber
this desolate cask that my mind
generates from forms it observes
the dirt on the streets,
that dank smell that seems to penetrate
through clandestine attempts at victory
how far that now seems as I run my marathon
racing to save all and crush one, the lone
victim whose circumstance was self inflicted
yes, I am being somewhat overdramatic, but
hyper-active minds do create
self-doubting, paranoid freaks
fighting the emptiness,
awaiting night.

©2006 Sean Muzzy