I have known depth. I have heard the velvet creaking of its flooring
The low grey sky of its ennui. Its subtle jousting of argument
The past has tasked me, and I have hesitated. But I must rise and answer.

I regret not the loss of counterpoint harmony
and form and meter and color and pacing
I have known depth. I have heard the velvet creaking of its flooring

The oxen pull at the cart. It hurts my shoulders to keep its stride
It's not at all pleasant to read in the rain, to cut the grass, to eat potatos
The past has tasked me, and I have hesitated. But I must rise and answer

It hits my peripheral vision, when the sun is up, the dark precursor
of my forgotten destinies, my forgiven fates, my buried genealogies.
I have known depth. I have heard the velvet creaking of its flooring

If I can't handle the clockwork life of paper blacksmithing,
the blood sacrifice of boredom, should I curl and be one with the fresh dirt?
I have known depth. I have heard the velvet creaking of its flooring
The past has tasked me, and I have hesitated. But I must rise and answer.

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