Restless
The insides are always lined with love,
The flavor of God is around, above, and beneath
received as a treat, inviting a taste for starved souls to feed,
Yet caught in my mind I can’t see it.
I dote more on pain than I do on art,
It’s all mind-to-mind and not heart-to-heart,
Half in the past and half in the future,
Either I’m working, or traveling to Rome,
I do it for fun, to escape the torture
of just being here, of just being home.
Since ‘home’ is a feeling and never a place,
Inhaled with a smile while closing my eyes,
Accepting the now, enjoying the here,
It feels kind of old, and I’m in a phase
where life is a race and time is the prize.
I’d stop if I could but then it’s the fear
of what I may miss, or passing me near,
While my eyes are closed enjoying the now,
Around all is moving, I won’t stay behind.
I’m not an observer lost in the crowd,
To stop and admire a work that is great,
I’ll better create, I’ll better just grind.
