Ghost Dance

Ideas writhing
Perceptions dissipating
Burn marks serve as the reminder
Truth has no measure
We just dance until we grow old
And hang our heads in sorrow
Hoping we've found an answer

I can't recall familiarity
with words and structure
to organize my tolls,
my responsibility,
regret, my chest can be powerful,
but cripples.
Communication can be corrupt.

I've said so much.
Do you think
we'll ever go back?
On top of a full glass,
there is wisdom.