deepundergroundpoetry.com
Phoenix
From the wall of the closest dock
to the furthest traveller's point
I would run to know freedom here.
Time,
it ticks so steadily, so patient as it waits on me,
there are days I forget it waits for no one.
There are check lists
sitting unmarked in my drawer, not for fear of wanting
but liable time, as I hate to let down others.
What of a weekend on the closest dock
or the furthest traveller's point?
Will freedom wait?
Maybe I'll write about it,
when those lonely hours pass and I can't motivate the flight. I become a shell,
built with letters and painted with words and destroyed by strangers passing on the damaged street.
to the furthest traveller's point
I would run to know freedom here.
Time,
it ticks so steadily, so patient as it waits on me,
there are days I forget it waits for no one.
There are check lists
sitting unmarked in my drawer, not for fear of wanting
but liable time, as I hate to let down others.
What of a weekend on the closest dock
or the furthest traveller's point?
Will freedom wait?
Maybe I'll write about it,
when those lonely hours pass and I can't motivate the flight. I become a shell,
built with letters and painted with words and destroyed by strangers passing on the damaged street.
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