God's elastic acer

I suppose I should work
through these dark skies.
and find some sort of chord
that rings with my own wonder. 

But that isn't today,
nor for a long while yet. 
Now is aching worry like lava on the floor,
 and no safe couch in sight. 

The empty boats of adulthood
when you steer the ship
and have no idea where to go. 

Where the safe illusion of parents
is yours to maintain,
we only whisper of our fear.
and pretend no one sees.