The map is made
Topography of the plains
dry and baked
parched, cracked land
that used to be mud
any more soothing?
Dosconcerting sphere
so irregular in perfection
conform to your freedom
that's what we do with it
because convention is a tool
of jealousy.
Echo seemlessly into
purgatory -- stasis
frozen in hope
waiting and forced to
by our own will
Expectations were built
to let you down
trampled in the wake