Broken Compass

Self-indulgent musings in rougly poetic form.

 

 

Have my arms grown shorter,

Has age fogged my vision

To the point where,

In life robotic,

Dreams and aspirations are

Out of reach,

Out of sight,

Lost from mind?

 

I once imagined clear direction,

A course steered straight and true,

Leaving behind a wake of great deeds,

With fascinating worlds forever ahead

Over the next horizon

 

Instead, I clank along,

A Frankenstein’s monster

With microchip programming,

Assembled from bolts and washers,

Scraps of wire and rusty metal,

Leftovers and discards

Stolen one at a time

From jobs, careers, and confinements

Unforeseen, unexpected, and unplanned