Part II: Playing Catch

Walking across all these bridges,
Has graced me with elegant prose,
My passion explodes like a geyser
  growing strong despite frictions below.
Turns out that truth won't fit in baskets,
And life comes from seeds that you sow,
And people have value without my infusions;
  we travel--as equals--this road.

The Manager cut me a deal:
He gave me a seat to the Show.
His Son is the major attraction
  and He speaks with a casual tone.

I got a lot for a little,
  a loan I can't ever pay off.
My soul is a garden, and He's in the middle,
  and nothing He's planted here ever shall rot.

Part I: Trajectory

I want to think about bridges,
I want to think about prose,
I want to think about geysers
  fueled by friction below.
I want to put truth in a basket,
I want to teach sowers to sew,
I want to infuse folks with value
  and prepare them to travel the road.

I want to speak to the Manager, because
I want to speak at the Show, and
I want to speak with a casual voice
  and wear a lapel microphone.

I'd like a lot for a little, but
  I'd like to think it's a lot.
I'd like to garden or whittle, but
  I'd rather just stay here and rot.