how the wish for rain under strange neons
accentuates in the darkness
I can't comprenhend.

Surely our chemistries are faulty by design;
the work of a forgotten sage we call god.
Through the aeons, he left,
strewn in the bloodstream, unsure attempts
at the greatness of the Bard.

For those of us, deprived of chant,
the yearn is even more oppresive
just as the quiet desperation we have taken to
in our vain pursuit.

Yet, we are mercilessly strummed
by the dark pluck of our desires,
vibrating to the edge of being broken,
prone to fret and buzz with unfulfilled goals.

Why can we see the way only in the dark
and the forget it when daylight comes?