Change is the only thing we own
You do not leave your childhood home
It leaves you with a tomb
In a garden of stone.

We are fevers racing dreams
Seeking to stop a flowing stream
Even as we step into it, momentarily causing a drain
Yet we still leave change alone.

A mandatory, repeating stillness
Masquerading as sameness
We are blameless and earnest
But we are not formless
We are begrudgingly conformist.