There is something enticing in the thought
Of putting all my things in a suitcase
And going on the run, a polyglot,
Forgetting bad memory in my haste.
I would like to see my drawers emptied,
My shelves all barren, and my notebooks burned.
I wonder if I was born with this need
Or if it is just how the tables turned.
For someone who shows little emotion,
You should see my burning eyes suspended
Over miles of rock and purple ocean.
All my happiest moments have tended
To occur whenever I am leaving.
There's a restless soul inside me screaming;
There's a jaded heart inside me grieving.
Lately, even more tempting it's seeming
Not to take that road that's travelled by,
For I know the meaning of Robert Frost.
One day I will be sighing, by-and-by,
Pondering whether on this path I've lost.
