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I lean my shoulders 
in the concrete on a corner
as I stood on the side
of a withered street

it's night and it's dark
and the only light 
comes from a dim
of a flickering street lamp 

and now I observe
how paths lead people
into a destination 
from a processed motion

as we do the norms,
Who did the norms?
as clues reach peaks
from us it comes indeed

if we dive into depths
deaths—and dead upon
the stiff, the mean unmoved
we learn the value, the rule

but questions boggle
a perceived; clouded mind 
qualm is the truth
the point ain't certain this time

Is life a stunt reprimanded?
or is it just a tradition unsettled?
Is it a daring path that's blunt?
there is no certainty, only scenes agitated