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