Burning moments at stake,lost

The skeleton with
arthritic bones crumbles
his shadow grows.
Time by his side
the grave digger performs
a hip replacement.
A butterfly emerges
a cocoon lies empty
real estate for sale.
A flower wilts
the bee has flown
a pollinated banquet
meals on wings
a bud bleeds heartbroken.
Here comes the sun
the dead sleep no more
during daylight savings.
Love rests, a triple bypass
the suitcase packed
waits at the door
a window open.
A road with no path
has no doors:
the compass spins
with no direction.
In a cyclic movement
turning around
I’m no more lost
than I am found.

Reviews

[M. J. Smith]

"Not all who wander are lost." - J. R. R. Tolkien.
Yes, already the trails call this drifter's heart. I listen for the call of the geese. My pack stands ready. My walking stick is freshly polished.
I love the wanderlust here. The image of waiting for the seasons to change. The call of the road.
You brought this to life so beautifully. Well done, Sir

[andrew mitchell]

Thank you Sir for giving the poem a go, much appreciated.