Oh the pain ...

Oh the Pain

Gee, over and over we meet
On your road to nowhere
Or everywhere
Depending of course on your mood
Your whim, your fancy ideas
Or dismal blatherings

I have my own space I know
And you are not so
Callous as to deprive me
Of my right to right my wrongs
Though, I have to say,
Most of them are your own fault!

You have rhythm in your soul
I think, yet you seem unable
To continue without pause
In your exploration
Of the music of your universe
The beat unstable and halting

All this said I would not trade
A moment of our experience together
Our bond, as it were
In your quest for clarity
For meaning and purpose
In an otherwise perplexing world

And now I sense
As always it seems to pass
That something else calls you
Something more mundane than poetry
Or prose, I've felt you call it work
Good bye for now, and we'll meet again this evening

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Copyright E. Bond Francisco 6/1/2008