Today I am restless and impatient.
/
desperately eager to leave, unsure of what blind boundaries hold me
back
what strange thoughts can come to mind in the twilight hours
while the moon's fragile figure and the glow it emanates
cloud
covered
to perhaps drive until my car stops and will no longer guide me
find a place where manmade marble and carved stone do not dwell
where the orbit of the sun is the only time-telling device
in nature's arms to start anew, without whim or worry
where grape seeds grow into vines
where the old wooden trellis holds strong and true against the elements
upon a broken porch of some run down cottage
to sit in the cracked leather of a weathered and abandoned chesterfield
live only for that moment of truest silence
no street, no car, no human being for miles
the city of money driven man, self-involved and greedy
of fashion-driven women who look down their noses
and of turmoiled gossip whispered in the shadows
now so very far behind me, seemingly a lifetime away
a vineyard to provide me with work
the soil to provide me with everything else
how very simple life could be...
/
But I am not in that paradise.
The man behind the counter in the local bodega watches me aimlessly
wander.
I am on a concrete street walking in circles, lost
in a dream I had hoped would never end;
where wind is captured and forced to vent our homes;
where fire can no longer burn freely
and where the water stings with salt and impurities.
Reality is a tragedy we must all endure,
because I am knowingly tied to this city
and I am so scared of the unknown
as all of us are.
My vineyard is but grape seed.
/
And today, I am restless and impatient.
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