climbing stairs that is,
don’t fret upon unnecessary
We all delve
we ask desire
to provide us a passion,
Every morning, though we fog it,
our memory reinstates
the necessity to replay,
re-stay in that state of mind,
the one, we know we don’t know.
Well, we know, we don’t want.
One doesn’t truly desire anxiety,
waking to sunshine we flaunt
a beautiful day, focus upon insecurity.
And then, well, its gone,
until another morning, some way
we wake inside a dream we faun
we hadn’t imagined this today.
That’s when we know, this front
needs to find a narrow corridor,
to keep space is limited and secure.
Sounds like a spy novel in order,
filled with carousel and an uncertain future.
© Thom Amundsen 11/2021