Sometimes my aspirations fly away
they get stuck in second gear,
losing wind and lift.
Sometimes I think, I think too much,
sometimes I think, I don’t think enough.
Oh what a web I weave,
with all my aspirations leaving me
for another lover,
an idea kissed my inspirations
as they transformed into aspirations.
Poor poor fool I turned out to be,
I became its tool.
It was nothing without me.
Aspirations and me
too soon we decided to leave.