If ever there is something new,
I find it sometimes in my shoe
When I attempt to leave the house
As quiet as a mouse.
For all intentions best to hold
Thoughts of grandeur, vision bold
Are held up by the drowsy drain
Of daily driving strain.
In the traffic, can it be
Such dreams of some reality
That find attention somewhere far
Away, now drowned by idling car?
Here I sit with simple goal
To scale the heights which often hold
Pressing thoughts which force the sink
Of vital time that makes dreams shrink.
So here it goes, the days speed on,
Past blurry daytime con
Of man - yes, I follow thus
Into the fold, awaiting such fuss -
The cubicle of broken dreams.
Lost somewhere off computer screen,
Somewhere deep into routine,
Thoughts that cross my mind at morn
When shoes go on, slippers shorn,
The time when vision still takes hold
To beg attention beyond the cold
Of morning air and waiting commute.