III: The Dirigible Blues.

I've released my tight grip of earth and meandered off, aloft
the bobbing strange
All of these lofty thoughts arranged

Pressure from emotions like tectonic plates and all the strife it creates
I needed to keep my feet on the ground,
And keep these voices bound
but I continue throwing my ballasts overboard
Citizens in clover hoard and ring bells of discord
And my feet are far above the street
above all of the unstable,
with the masses watching, affixing a label
Raucous, insatiable laughter peels from old men below as into this earth they rip,
and her clothes from her they strip
Their backs now turned and all things unearned
I feel as if in perpetual equipoise before any action
Now I lack reaction
I lack suspicion
I lack hate
I lack ambition
I lack love

My feet left the ground,
I wonder if I'm still stable,
if I'm still able.
Maybe the labels are right,
Maybe I'm to be kept just out of sight.

Author's Note

This was written by Ben Lingemann.
Please do not plagiarize, All Rights Reserved.