joie de vivre

I walked for miles dreaming about my art
The lights are orange because the bulbs are cheaper
The kids are afraid, too bad for my art

I stumbled along the perfect pavement, sleeping
In my haze I found that which woke me
I had no one to tell, too bad for my art

That which I found is passion
True passion which I've never known
though it's been here all along, too bad for my art

I've boarded ships to find it in jungles
And served like a serf in the castles of scholars
Yet I couldn't recognise it, too bad for my art

Lo and behold here it is, in this shell
In this dream that I may now wake up to live
But I know not how to sound the alarm, too bad for my art

How do you give a gift that cannot be taken in hands?
-teach a lesson that students know, yet refuse?
I will try, too bad for my art


humanista