Don't lead me down that path.
That trodden split concrete lump
of sameness you called your
love.  I've tripped before on
that sidewalk of belief.  

Don't place my hand over your
sorry song.  The beat is slack,
the rhythm is tired. I have heard
more poems in Heaven and Earth
than are imagined in
your philosophy Horatio.

Walk off the curb where no
fence is.  There you will
find your blind way.  Don't
grasp for daisies

when you find the end of the
journey.  You will trip
on the  lines I draw
with chalk made of
tears and dust.

Caroline Shank