But my sides will fold in at the
slightest distress.
How many restless nights will I reduce
To another new story, a proximal
excuse?
How many wakings in sickening dread
Will I blame on fatigue, or the flu, or
my head?
How many angst-ridden rhymes will I
write
Before I find answers, the end of the
line?
The problem is, I don't know where to
start.
Am I missing someone, or my own
Grinch-sized heart?
Am I craving a challenge, some new
summit to climb,
Or should I search for
serendipity–people, places and times?
I think we all have a monster to feed.
We don't know what we're looking for,
We just know that we need.
No comments:
Post a Comment