Perhaps you smell this tear-stained cloth
and hear its wind-frayed tethers
saluting another day
another gray and windy day.
You have touched this old cement
and these faded bricks
and stepped across the hardened rivers
of sun-dried, heat-filled pavement.

Specters of industry and backbones bent
hold up the temples of your world;
Giants of mind and tyrants of heart
authored the luxury of your way…
So shame your wasted soul
as you waste your time away;
The target of your eyes sets too low—
From a worthwhile path you’ve gone astray.

Waste not my time
with a shallow thought;
Steal not my eyes
with your fallow lot.
I’m already too far behind
all the worlds in my mind.