Days like this : a poem
Kind sometimes
Most of the times
Not
The position is Stop
And a rock stands in front of Go
Just the idea
To move
Would prove to make it so
If such thoughts were
Made
Instead of stayed still
Being afraid
That Go would show
A path open to the brave
And no bones
Of that sort resort in this knave
It’s soft inside
Eager for the rush
Yet more eager
To hide
Still a dagger
Sits at every turn
Every direction
Fiery reflections
To burn
A beckoning voice
A begging thought
The web of decision
Spun by the spider
Has it caught.
