Lowlands

Welcome to the low lands

where we say "Oh man"

every time we feel sand

but we don't eat the dirt man,

we type with serif sans

cartoon type and enlarged hands

big demands, pocket fans,

We tell ourselves the light is close

but our contacts' lids are always closed

and like water the answer dribbles

down our skin into the sink

of our unhappiness.

How long until we realize, 

that all we need for our blind eyes,

is the one who sets us free?

That no lie, no place

will help us keep pace

with who we need to be

And all the shifting shapes

of our disproportionate personalities

just shatter our realities 

and leave us in need.

When will our minds

like dried out rock

crack in two,

and let out the water stored inside you

when will the springs run forth

and wash the sands away?

Wash away the fray?

Keep us in the day?

When will we say?

Halle

Author's Note

this was simply words flowing out of me onto the page, there was very little editing.