A  bedtime story for rude children,

Poems by Patrick

 I’m pointing myself nowhere

It is easier following footsteps when the toe prints at the front

Unless you’re quite adept at going backwards,  but I’m not

Backward facing footprints always head to where they’ve been

I could have even traveled there. . . Maybe I  just forgot .

I doubt that I will ever pace a path that’s not been trod before

and If ever get there I will surely be surprised.

I might just take a pile of wood and tools to build a door

Then lock the thing behind me. Trapped in my own demise.

But knowing how I travel I will probably lose the key

And lock myself in somewhere nobody else will ever go.

Then maybe I will realize the stupidity that’s me.

And likely find my death, and no one else will know.

Bugger Bugger everything, I am staying on the Highway

I have never know quite where I am, plus I’m regularly Lost

I’m best suited more to never doing things my way

I’m a go in circles type of guy but I can’t afford the cost.