As far as my chain will let me.
Thoughts of evergreen, bales of hay, and humble breeze,
Are all I need, everything else has to stay.
It pains me great with sorrow and grief,
To pick up a leaf and hold it in my hand,
Where, soon enough, I will pick up the sand,
To sift through my fingers, on thorough constructed belief.
Never have I been a family man,
With bubbly tubs of love & hugs.
I’m one to run on, with grunts and shrugs,
Because I’m lucky enough I can.
I’m an anchor, with barnacles, with lengthy chain,
Following rusted, worn tracks that migrate far from home.
Just because I am what I am, does not mean I must remain.
Does not mean I can’t ride that train.
I was given slack to someday stir, rise to the points of my feet, and roam.