With eyes one tries to see,
Far beyond what ones gaze so brings,
Find meaning under what’s seen,
And understand what they mean.
Without slow ruminating reflection,
Life is but just normative clutter,
Just mindless motions of faint decisions,
It leaves no stories there left to utter.
With voices left and right
Like noise we try our best to hide
But without the patience for slow paced listening
We’re left with booming basses
And empty felt caresses.
What is it the defines who we are
Our ever growing bank accounts?
Have we in turn erased
what it means to be human?
Content in our own definition
Of a new reanimated life?