Of the path,


Each step
at times
seems forever
choosen carefully as though
preventing a fall
from grace?
Or merely a fall?
We walk
each step
choosen
measured
a step
taken
under an inch
we trip
over an inch
we stumble people looking
away
Are of the path?
One with the path?
part of the path?
or
off the path
lost
confused
alone
and knowing
not where to go?
Are we,
of the path?

To sing a song


 Driving
staring straight seemingly
without looking to the right or left
a choir of
mechanical singers,
each wrapped in a cocoon
each
singing to words and music only
they hear
only they know
and the separation
the gulf
is clear
Are we social?
Do our Zune’s connect?
Do we share?
Or locked in our iron cages do we sit
waiting for a sign
or a song perhaps
that we can share.
The american idol of the road
constant judge
locking us in sound proofed rooms
no sharing
only
the sound of our own voice.
Are we social?