Degrees of Freedom
Why is my heart as cold
As a December in Maine?
Why am I so bold,
Always searching for more pain?
Why does the imagery of frozen woods
And crisp November skies,
Always sink me into thoughtful moods,
Contemplating the meaning of these lies?
Why is my fear as hot,
As Texas in July?
I try to force it down, but it’s not
Quite willing to say goodbye.
And why do the two forces
War inside me like vinegar and oil?
Ultimately though, they strike a balance,
Each other, they never soil.
One on top of the other,
A thin layer given here to lend.
One subtracted from another.
Simply degrees of freedom in the end.
0 comments