Aimless

That would be me, in a suit, at a bus stop,
Going to do what I couldn't do long.
That was a future I'd had, but it passed.
Now, I shuffle among piled stacks
Of mementos, each a point plotted
In retrospect, reached on a map
Of a journey devoid of a plan.
I still own those old suits, but I
Don't ride the bus. I can't say what
I'm doing, but that doesn't matter.
It's doubtful I'll do it for long.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 73 times
Written on 2015-04-23 at 12:31

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