Just Another Poem
So what is next for us? I do believe I am lost.
I am wandering alone on a road seasoned with icy frost.
I am barefoot. The chill originates in my bones.
I am what makes these icy roads cold.
Yet I crave feeling warm, I desire the heated.
Warmth here is in a famine like edible food depleted.
The last time I felt warmth was when I talked to you in earnest.
Not unlike when I talked to my human Father as a kid.
I was one fourth of his size, weighed less than a penny,
I’d stare up into his deep green eyes, and he’d protect me.
I opened my mouth, had planned what I was to say,
yet my words would just ruminate like a horse eating hay.
Point A to point B was an impossible feat,
Yet he would continue to stare down lovingly on me.
Why can I not talk like I used to? I believe I am lost.
In an over air-conditioned room, my lips are what’s frozen with frost.
I now am in a tall building, for white walls and florescent light.
A man in a suit is explaining my downward plight.
He says I need to literally cough up my debt.
He is the coldest person I think I have ever met.
Colder than me, but alas, I am lost.
So I payed my dues unaware of the cost.
Lord, who am I? Why do I hate being alone?
The smoke signals are useless from my mountain-top home.
Yet they are my preferred method of communication, they cloud my vision.
There is way less tension when there is no decision.
I can not sit on your lap, for you are not like my father.
Or are you? Well then please cause me not to wander,
On roads, seasoned with icy frost.
For I do believe I am lost, I know I am lost.