Still Awake? It's Late Here.

a song published without sound is lost, but expression in its purest form is still art, even without a piano?

Still awake these days?
Must be still alive,
still growing...
worried what you're knowing
Still wondering what it takes?

Then I look myself in the eye,
talk her into a drink...
She tells me she wonders
what to embrace
Still wondering just what it takes?

And what it makes?
All this time?

Still awake these days.
To a different end
Then again
struggling to be growing?
And fussing with what it makes?

And what it leaves in its wake?
And what it gets in its take?
And what it breeds in its stake?
And what it feeds in its make?
And what it heeds in its fake?
And what it reads in its leaves...
to the deepest quake?

Still alive these days,
to be youthful, but not afraid
to be bold, but not too outlaid
to be railing against something made
not out of my own...

Still alive these days,
to be loved as I deserve
to be fought for and be served
to be nothing to forget, that's such a bet

And I don't bet, I know.
Usually, or don't you so?
To a point, deliver the words you know?
To someone, if only yourself?
I am, I will be, I know.

Can she hear?
Can she tell I care?
That I want to know?
What inside her, drives resistance like now?
Pride, rage, envy, or fear? or more?

I wonder.

and I long...
to be there,
when she knows.