jumping many fences, that used to rein me in
be damned with what they think; or think that they may know
I am not quite finished yet, nor is it time to go
I'm sliding down the banister, of the stairway that leads up
and I am pretty thirsty for what runs over my cup
it's not a mountain breeze, more like a hurricane
the thunder is still crashing and there's lightning just the same
how we've come this far,with still more paths to travel
held together with glue so we don't come unraveled
I don't think we're close to being over or done
another night does pass and up comes the warm sun
Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License
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