On the eve of breaking

crystallized points turn to slumber

within the nest of reason,

a comfort of an exclusive class

given to acts of mourning.

On the night of knowing

random reason leads a charge

toward the tower of principle

and finds within itself

remnants of a higher truth.

On the day of leaving

scattered signs align

although they aren't requested

and offer within their core

a glimpse of human frailty.

Upon the new foundation

wiser steps are taken

to preserve the precious union

between two souls of conscience

who wander through dark stars.

Upon the bright beginning

of reaching beyond old goals

it seems that we are sailors

and our hearts must construct

a tugboat or a raft.

It seems that we are sailors

who oft forget their harbor

as needful deeds demand

conduct most deceitful

to plot a winning course.

It seems that we are old souls

too numb to this voyage

yet too young to avoid

the simplest of mistakes

on any given path.

And all along the channels

there lurks familiar danger

lulled into complacency

by the rocking of waves

stirred by nearby crashes.

And gone without mementos

are faces once held dear,

our faces pay attention to

whatever color's near

and miss the stir of shadows.

On tugboats and rafts we glide

beyond the point of reason

and sanction our humanity

to favor nations over people.