Where my feet have not trod no earthly trace of foot or shoe has marked this sleepy lawn still wet with dew no early birds peck breakfast at their ease no gossiping wind to whisper through the trees a day with all its mysteries still to tease
There is no goal nothing to follow no beacon for life no beating pulse no footsteps no end in view freefall children this is what we do leaves on the wind tossed and blown creatures of chance of fate and circumstance we dance along the wire until we expire
Without a soul there is no life only relentless churning in a word machine which has never seen or sorrowed or loved or a thousand other things for it is this that gives the poet's words their wings it can but try but with no heart it cannot truly fly
Hospital coffee hopeful light mixed strong with wanting dark a bitter longing blend which burns the mind but does not seek to fill an empty cup stirred with memory amid the bleeps and whines of a machinery heart truly a mocha morning
A drop of rain parts the fur of a captive tiger it reminds him of the jungle that he has never seen but there is a poster he can look at vaguely he plans a holiday two weeks in the sun then he heads indoors to his food bowl and watches the downpour through the window