Poetry

Go

A few weeks without direction
And the poles are lost, stars
Scattered, maps mad tangles
Of directionless lines, meaning
Less symbols, broken syntax.
I should have taken notes,
Left a trail of breadcrumbs,
Done something to remember
How to turn around at the end
Of a long dark tunnel, an alley
Somehow too many steps
From the street lights and life
Of the living, instead of this.
Hours slide by, everything
Moves but nothing changes.
I know I need to run, race.

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