drift

like ships unmoored,. we drift at night, awakening in stranger lands.
To find ourselves somewhat estranged ,questioning yesterdays plans.
the world however expects consistency, though it only exists in the dead.
It binds us to an unwritten contract of what's to be   done and what's to be said,
That all free men and women are outcast ,left alone as the herd moves past.
because they see the truth each moments new,
not  determined by the past.
 In this living breathing cosmos nothing remains the
same.
 And this concretizing of the human soul, will drive us all  insane,