poetry 101 rehab: revolution

pace the pavement,
punctually tired.
routine well-established
(if you're not careful

you will wear the
asphalt down)

same old days;
they ignore dark winter's
chill kiss
(summer's humid embrace
as well)

pace the path
you accidentally created
day after week
after month.

snap and tear;
you're darkest in your
imagination.

(it won't change anything,
you know?)

pacing turns frenzied
hurrying towards a dozen
imagined goals.
(there's never enough time,

is there?)

and on a blistering-hot day,
(you're not even aware of it yet)
this is how you decide.

it's time for your
revolution.