Some days I wonder what I would rather be

a wanderlust soul to where the wind leads

a leaf from a book, crying to be torn

an incomplete work of art, waiting to be shorn

waiting for my train, my daily commute

I let my mind wander, to places unseen

some strange like dreams or covered in soot

me with damaged wings, flapping across

over those lands, yellow, black, red or green

other wanderers think me lost as I aimlessly limp

but I savor every lost minute like no other loss

hopping in sweet pursuit while my feet bleed

I go on and on to wherever that road leads

before it’s time for the mind to wander back again

to the flesh and bones waiting to be taken

to the mindless life of the sinners & the sane

 Ah! There comes the chugging demon all shaken

waking me from my stupor, that bloody whistling train

making me aware of all the mundane lively pain

there packed inside it is more flesh and bones

but less like me, more like mindless idiotic drones

most scared of taking an off-beat path of novel deeds

much less of taking a road not sure of where it leads