If you space prose a certain way, it looks like poetry.

Songs about trying make me cry.
Sitting by Sandstone Lake I read the words
to Leonard's Bird on a Wire and I broke into tears.

Like a bird on a wire,
Like a drunk in a midnight choir,
I have tried in my way to be free.

I tried. I tried. I tried so hard.
By my way wasn't their way.
And when they told me what their way was,
I was willing to try that.
But that isn't what they wanted.
It's me they didn't want.

They tell my friends that they don't know the whole story.
But fact is
They haven't even told *me* my whole story,
That is, what they think my story is.

God alone knows my whole story.
They know only enough to prop up their story.

What of the part of my story of my trying
and God's Grace
and actually making progress in this life?

The vector, not the point.

And certainly not the past,
Which we agreed could teach us lessons but
Not be a weapon.

(Or so I thought).

"THIS is the starting point."
You'd better hope so, buddy boy.
I know a smidge of your story, too.

And then there's the whole story of
The Place itself
More and more of which I'm learning since I left.

And by the way
To come around to some sort of close
Songs about crying make me try.

How long must I sing this song?