UNREST

Run fast,
Walk tall.
Stand still,
Sit straight.
Spine on the rest,
Dissenting the unrest.

Miles are ran,
Alleys walked.
Stages stood at,
Chairs sat on.
Back against the rest,
Deviating my unrest.

Mind is of the matter.
Matters of the mind.
Talking to me,
Pathways are opened.
Talking through me,
Footprints are examined.

The mark of yesteryear
Is trickiest to cleanse.
Is it me from the inside?
Or all you from out?
I don't want to be
A product of my environment
It's tricky, Costello.
You should have known. #

photo credit: dirtisdirt