The Rafts on the Docks of Quandary

Empty rooms dredged in dust.

My mind says run, but toward what?

Left-Path? Right-Path? Both are blind.

Uncertainty here is costing time.

Vegas.. Angeles.. Louisville's no-hope

Dreams are the bindings on a slipknot rope.

To sink and seek as the anchor presses,

Submerged immobile, my darkness regresses.

So hot is this weather, its storm: all clouds

The shade on parade, a mind made in doubt.

Few decisions remain, this only mission,

A prisoner of ritual paying penitentiary pension.

Survive or fall, this one choice

to suffer more, or to defeat the voice?

Succumb to gloom to rest entombed

Sway in, sway out – no definitive truth.

"You will make it!" Sure, I know this.

Some have been here, others never get it.

Born alone/die alone, 'tis the same in the middle.

A captain of a sunken ship.

Do you go down with your own people?