When honey turns to poison
And sugar to regret,
Like tempered steel
Fading into dust
All things feel lost.
But wandering is not a plight
Or a plague to flee;
It is its own freedom
With patterns of calm collection
And cool acceptance.
While unoriented
I am fine without a way;
Content in my own skin
And mountains of frost.
I have my escape
From savage life
That seems only to serve
Itself on bones
And quenches thirst
On sentiments unknown.
Yet I cannot falter
For it’s fool’s admission
To think and not suppress
The very lines
That draw my cage
And trap me here within
These homemade walls.
I’d let you in,
But I’ve no doubt
That once you’re here
It’ll never be the same.
Moonlit Poetry 