Unyielding, jaw firm set,
Locked tight as bolt’s centuried rust.
Fearing ground shift,
Terrified consequence of modification,
Though stimuli, persistent forcing,
Raise armies against fidgets, fighting.
Throttle full, while brakes remain,
Attempts to steer from quayside,
By mooring ropes constrained.
Anchor thrown to depths of certain,
Blocks shifting path or course’s change.
Every chance for positive action,
Observer tested, tried and thwarted as,
Avalanche, mud slide, quakes, acid rain,
Await steppers forward,
To dare-devil cross oblivion’s line.
Solace never shares your path,
These plans, by self-structured artifice,
Themselves deny all chance of passage,
To futures of relaxed uncertainty.
For more the mould its pattern urges,
Less your lifetime’s map endorses.
If only you could all control,
Make onshore waves break backwards roll.
Life’s fractured elements you’d unite,
And all would grant your great foresight,
Then surely you’d be proven just,
For treating each new concept thus.
Everyone caution’s torch raised high,
In you they’d place their trust and die.
© Sam McKeon 2015
appetite-2-write 