Friday, August 15, 2008

Restless

My feet
ache for familiar paths
the roads that cross
through fields of
the expected.

Not greatness
but the mediocre
manufactured
like a McChicken,
always the same.

Now I choose
the grinding path up
sometimes
the ascent makes me restless
like waiting for a bridge to lower
so you can drive across.

Patience is not my virtue,
I am the captain of my soul.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I'm not a real poetry expert but I like what I'm reading. What an interesting device - the omission of punctuation to actually invoke a feeling of juxtaposition. It's like anti-onomonopiety. I love it. It makes e.e. cummings come to mind.