Poem: It Is Nothing I Want to Do,

It Is Nothing I Want to Do,

is not what I want to be,
but I come.  I do not run away,
even if it seems wrong.
I am not certain why,
but I keep coming.
I wish I had better to do,
things that were right,
things that were mine,
that felt proper,
felt in line with me,
with my directions,
the me I choose,
not this stranger.
But still, I will go again.
I know it.  I am certain.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Poem: Neighborhood Inhabitants

A Writer's Notebook, One-Thousand-Eight-Hundred-And-Seventy-Three

A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-One-Hundred-And-Thirty-Three