Too much poetry is too much trying

Too much poetry is too much trying
to appear other than who we truly are;
The old regime would have us die sighing
for sentiments by fakery now marred.

We see the breaking down of all fixed shapes
as fine relief from old and blind burdens;
Unladen thus we march, excited apes
that search the fields for watery gardens.

But there's a hidden beauty to be found
in freedom furnished in the guise of chains;
Our movements thus restricted around
a pillar, we summon the stormy rains.

To channel great and mighty currents felt
through flesh and bone, and deep within yourself.