Streetlights are calling,
Time has run over
But stay. 
The path laid before
Is crooked, but does not err,
The destination is true. 
There’s a spark in your soul
I believe in. 
Near to the ache,
Driven wildly intense.
Let the patience intend,
Let it spare to be,
Desire waits at the gate
Of the tributaries ran free. 
Taken up by the current
To the ocean inclined.
Turn. Turn in need,
Be the shoulder of sound
When wind breaks the reed. 
When the clouds have fallen
The mists are the shroud.
Nothing at arms-length
Makes sense anyhow.