Swinging oaths as tree branches,
I’ve broken more promises than backs.
Building ladders straight to the sky,
I’ve avoided more people than birds.
Winds don’t deter me,
but the cold they bring just might.
Crawling down a mole hole,
I’ve evicted its former tenants.
but the wind’s teeth don’t reach here.
Rolling a stone across the entrance,
I’ve sealed out any stoppers-by.
The first to disturb my door
won’t find a welcoming host inside.
Darkness doesn’t deter me,
but the worms it brings just might.
Strolling across plains, forests, streams,
I’ve simply run out of map.
The ways I’m taking right now
haven’t been planned or suggested.
Sinking deeper into darkness,
I’ll sleep without despair.
The morning will illuminate
further paths which I’ll wind.
Great distances don’t deter me,
but the wet socks they bring just might.
Deciding what I’ll do today,
I’ve called more shots than friends.
A pattern I’ve certainly noticed,
but done little to upend.
Settling down now at my desk,
pen in hand, paper in tow,
I’ve run out of distractions,
but a new one is soon to come.
Writing doesn’t deter me,
but beginning it just might.