Often I rush headlong through open gates
Without pausing to see where a path leads.
Impulse may motivate this wand'ring state;
Some innate need to run and not concede;
To jealously guard autonomous will;
Never to surrender to inaction.
I cannot...simply must not remain still,
For in quieter times do demons come
To invade my dreams with freakish malice.
Four walls in a dark room pressing inward;
A false tapestry woven and callous.
And yet, to move is what I can afford,
Refusing counterfeit tranquility
To plumb chartless depths of audacity.