Do not feed the beast

he was born to be wild
or at least that’s what he tells himself
watching twenty-something year old girls
prance and dance
invite with a smile, entice with a wink

he paces and prowls the cage of his brain
a lone gray wolf corralled
by chicken wire quotations of conscience
and boxed in by the parentheses of consciousness.

on the edge and fighting
the instinctual urge for freedom
the what ifs, the why nots,
patience and frustration
feign the docile veil of domestication
and marriage

the would’ves,
                 should’ves
                            and could’ves
flash back images
of the bikes, cars and girls of his youth
remorse and regret
or maybe it’s just midlife crisis

whatever the cause
pretty young things beware

Do not feed the beast

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Friday, June 15, 2012 - 18:18

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poetpete

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