Cherry-Pick
Brooke Waggoner
[Spoken Word]
Can you hear it?
The soft sound of aging
The watch tower growing watch-less
The cautious losing conscience
In that summer's eve, in the dryness of the mountain
Beams of sunshine whispered at my back and became my captain
So I became a slave to the one that uplifts and left me cartwheeling
Do you know it?
Do you know the meek ways we have bathing?
The must for hibernating?
The need for book-casing?
I feel I'm getting better, I feel it in my bones
Inside my body and underneath my clothes
I'm holding out for something, I know nothing of what it is
And I'm waste-deep in the middle of a mess
Like a splinter that's been lodged inside
Burying all the cold from seasons past
That's it