Outside is like inside with no roof...
The same still, warm air, and
The same walls preventing escape.

Tonight I felt again that urge
To run, feeling the wind rushing
Past my ears as the ghostly night clouds
Float noiselessly above, and the rest
Of the world awaits tomorrow,
Washing its hands of today in the oceans
Of some distant dream world.

Although the idea still appeals
On such a night as this, I know
That I am no longer the energetic,
Hot headed teenager who first
Entertained such thoughts when
The shackles of routine became tight
Around his ankles.

So I sit and write about it instead,
Wondering for what I used that energy,
Or if I simply let it seep away
As I wrote so many times before.
Even if it were still in my possession,
I doubt there would be enough to restart
All this machinery that seized up
Those few, but long, years ago.

For little now can truly move me;
I am unaffected now by the little
And not so little things that once
Caused the words to erupt from
This battle scarred heart.

Perhaps I have now seen it all,
And everything that inspired
Has lost its magic through becoming ordinary...
Or maybe that which is hidden by
The internal scar tissue is
Not extinct, but dormant.

08/02/2004

Posted on 08/03/2004
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince