The Eye of The Storm

It happens when we're waking up  
And when we're drifting off to sleep  
Where food for thought on which we sup  
Boils away or gets hip deep.  
It's the fault borne Morphean Sea  
Of disassociated thoughts  
Where all the experts disagree  
On how to chop its Gordian knots  
Which would undo the nets we need  
For sustainable livelihood  
Or to snare the genius to breed  
An everlasting kind of good  
Where the screams of our worst mistake  
Become the whispers of new days that break!