"To be enthralled by, The craft of the pavement and the faults of the road,
Ignoring the distance that is there to be journeyed: - ..."
Quite distracting is the flower.
You've stopped
To Smell
Admire
An innocent act enough
But now you consider,
Should I pick
Or touch?
This fragile life
At the very whim of my finger tips
You pick
And got stung by the bee
Perturbed you dare interrupt,
His course of action
Reinforced determination
Misleads you more
You go again
Heading for the stem.
You flinch
And suck your thumb
Eyeing warily the hidden thorns
Not expecting to be hurt .
Unrehearsed rage
Consumes the gentleness
Of your once caress
As you destroy the what you cannot have.
So your saunter resumes
Unnecessarily angered,
Deliberately ,
Your walk not nearly as perceived
Despising the gray afternoon gloom
Wishing for a brighter effect that could do the same for your mood
Your entire existence not nearly as pleased .
Taking for grated the peace you could have had, If you hadn't made that stop.
Instead you coverted what you could not.
