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Stuck on First Gear

Where there are no new beginnings
Only charted frontiers to the trekking man
Where there are no jolts of adrenaline
Only the monotony of a laboring heartbeat
Where there are………
No trapdoors, quicksand or parachutes in your path
But sanctuaries and harbors
When the heart’s quill lies horizontal
Snoozing on the parchment of dreams
When your wheels are evacuated of her octane fuel
Stranded down boulevards of scant hope
When the plodding heart is an abject abyss
Not even a paltry virus would conquer
When the path of life leaves no footsteps
Only the rising blanket of particulate dust
When you are blessed with a six-foot frame
Only to be invisible to the prowling eyes of man
Then my child……………
It is you, who have ceased to live!

Submitted: Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, September 10, 2013


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A poem on boredom striking your life

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