Poetry Corner

Trip down memory lane. 

Who's who and remember that? No way!

The hum of the city and twisitng scents.

A hot coffee. 

T'was far from an oat flat white you were raised.

Escape the bottle, the cries, the weight of a remote life.

Pedal fast, zone to zone, a compromise not to be made.

Both free in ways and bound by others,

Nights at the offie turned to the office.

At the end of the day it's just liquid in a glass, he scoffs, 

while relaying the glitz of movie stars.

All access is not access in the grand scheme 

but Mikado still walks with a limp on a dark street in Dublin.

It's so small, they exclaim, while relaying lores of times gone by.

Linear paths criss cross in ways no one could imagine.

Such a shame it is to discover your dreams in your thirties, as if today was not a prompt to chase them.

It's rare to pick up where you left off.