the beginning of a long night ends with the evidence of boredom.
a slight nod to the idea of feeding the moon's curiosity
leads to heads hung low, too tired to be held high.
whether it be the thought of seeing the destruction laid before us
or the comfort of witnessing our ability to keep up the pace,
we love knowing there's ground beneath our feet.
a shallow creek is no match for our long strides
and a makeshift grave is no reason to dig up the past.
so we look forward to our excursions,
undercover of darkness,
among the living proof
and the dead wrong.
calculating the outcome of the night's events
is about as probable as guessing the weight of regret.
it's not until the first signs of morning creep through shut blinds
that we really know where we went right.
and even then,
who knows,
we may have to reflect and consider each step,
each leap
before we really comprehend our transgressions.
i sure as hell hope so.
