Bent and Beat

promise has fled the nest she built

once upon a when

things were easy to say

(because we had fewer words?)

perhaps that is it, one needs less words, just enough to suffice in saying the few things that can honestly be said and leaving the unnameable unnamed

do we truly know more than the children we once were?

more likely we just have more intricate reasonings, explanations for our circumstances

these endowments that occupy so much more of our time than our freedoms do

have we lost more than we have found along the way?

which really matters not as we have no way of changing those things in the past

but perhaps it matters to know what it is that has died is so that we may mourn it

and there is no linear notion to these lines, they are but a trail followed loosely through the snow

and i have used too many words for something simple

trying to name the unnameable