There are
	Too many restless days
	Within my heart,
	When wonder
	Scampers 'round
	The boundaries
	Of consciousness,
	Until one's mind
	Tires from trying
	To fix it
	Within its gaze.
	That which is sought
	Is never found;
	That unbidden
	Stumbled over
	And kicked aside
	In blind disgust.


© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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