Sonnet Six

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.