Frustration with the belittle of the onward struggle,
an interference, intrusion of my inner peace bubble,
my vision for the ease of things that can easily be,
for the mission of doing the impossible on probability,
I spill out my mind just address words to note,
pad out my records just aloud for you to sing the quotes,
perhaps my tongue was too sharp when I spoke,
but the point was less involved than your mind's ballot vote,
it's not something to change, I don't want you to,
it's too small to strain, my angst varied upon is moot,
loosened and used, the weight is acute,
these words breach aura only in search of the truth,
mind you the point of micromanaging it's minute,
so sing for me like you already do, please don't be mute,
the woodwind's aligned, I'm just learning to play the flute,
So to the moon I look, and watch it play the strings of my vitals,
and I'll kiss the surface when I praise it's recitals..
-Nem
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