I have something I do not have.
Maybe it was lost in the waters
The depth of which are still unknown;
I do feel something slightly more than a halve
Not that in this late fog it truly matters.
Perhaps in the forest I have grown
Deep within and inside out, around the edge
I stand, staring into the folly of the age;
Perhaps yet in the wind, scattered in many a pledge
Made to the new and the old, the easy and the sage.
Seeking for I tread this night, perhaps sleep shall whisper
Yet I search for a stronger voice,
One that comes and goes whether I care to make my choice
Or keep staring at the flame until blister.
That is not dead which can eternal lie
Yet is one alive if there is none to try?
What questions come when I be seeking for their sisters!
What grand orchestra plays as my Muses remain silent!
They listen when not speak and not speak when I listen;
To the skeptics of my follishness I ask where is the proof
That that which I am lacking
I even had before?
What would be but a spoof
Which I have been tacking
To the fro and the fore.
I do not have something I have,
Is whether it is found what matters?
Having stepped by so many a milestone
I am, on the whole, slightly more than a halve.
Halve I what I have? And have I what I halve?