Up, This Is the Problem To think of. For anything Worth the sweat Of our brow or of the Grinding teeth that keep Us half asleep at night, wriggles, Turns and unfinished murmurs off of The edge of tongues on the ways we might fail. When there is might in the certainty of nothingness, Still, can anyone accept his own downfall in the moment now, To venture out into the mysterious emptiness, the darkness, in depths. Holding fast in fluidity, we can conquer the demons that keep us as prisoners in Our own minds. The stale stories that we still tell ourselves, or have been told from birth hurt As we break in the bones of conformity. And the fascial adhesions still keep us joined at the hip, bound to Societies' expectations of what we maybe might achieve, and still we hold our emotions down in our stomachs and Quiver at sights of flamboyant eccentricity. A call to arms became a call to body and mind and self altogether whatever the Differences. New ages are contained in the disintegration of a moment before the wind changes, Changing - Nothing can hold us Down.