On The Wayside

Wake up to the sound of dawn,

lost in the chaos, stifling devoirs,
the others can’t hear, so deaf and done.
But you can, you’re the only one.

Like animals, battling. They gnaw and claw.
Swinging, arms flailing, stomachs are wailing,
but you’re hungry, for something more.

Outside in slow traffic, sickening smog; so dank,
dark, drab and cold, they want to stay inside, so they lied,
but not you, you’ve no reason to hide.

Instead: light, bright, sunny and full of life.
Each step, brief, eager, puppy-like,
going, further and further, you walk,
where the others only begin to talk.

Home, winter-warm, restless refuge,
they return, worn, torn, exhausted and forlorn.
But you’re still going; giving up is forsworn.

Hysterical, honest, hungry, hairy is hope.
You see, hear, say, hold and feel it, time and time,
but they don’t.

Uprooted, uplifted, readily rejuvenated, rising like the sun, burning till it’s done, they won’t say it, but you needn’t a reminder,
since in your toil, you’ve already won.

Undangerous desires, passionately patient, you are,
lightning in a bottle,
rare and bouncing, around inside,

you’ve not wasted life, when you live, embracing the wayside.

 

Kevin-K