The Flower Called Nowhere

All the small boats on the water aren't

Going anywhere

Surely they must be loaded with

More than simple matter

Floating on top and gracefully tending

To the same pole

All the small boats on the water

Going nowhere

Is it true that none of them, will ever

Break free and sail?

Feel the night is made of rocks

The stagnant mass...

Is it true that none of them, will ever

Break free and sail?

Break free from the stagnant boats

Left in obscurity

All the faces with their eyes closed

Giving a smile

Weightless

Like a body that would vacate to its

Own light

Is it true that none of these

Contented happy faces will not ever hear a cry

Won't hear a cry?

Is it true that none of these contented

Happy faces will not ever hear a cry

Filled with love not with desire

Love not desire?