The Sweat of a Restless Heart

Some days I wake up
The sweat of a restless heart
Already formed on my brow.
My love says that I just run hot
But I think sometimes
It comes from my wild thoughts.
I wake and want to sell
Everything I have
And take off into the unknown
Which torments me so.
Why wait for it to come to me,
If I can pursue it immediately?
The world turns with passion
And hurls through space at incredible speed.
Does it make sense that I
Should remain still?
Did God not say – go forth and subdue the earth?
Did He not say be fruitful?
I have not subdued anything
I have produced no fruit.
I sleep and wake and sweat
In the turmoil of inaction.
I have the broken heart of Adam in my chest
But no wild frontier to explore.
Just concrete mazes and digital jungles
Full of tame and dying people
And long nights of running around town
And jumping in rivers just to feel alive.


I find it hard to picture old age.
My own, that is.
I’ve seen many withered souls,
But at 25
The world is mine.
I do not claim it
In some modern ambitious sense,
But in the sense that I
Can approach the waterfall
And battle the weight of the river
To enter the cave.
I can still climb
To any wild beauty
And only break a sweat.
I can not picture old age
I can not picture my life any other way.


I sit in a coffee shop
Reading poems
By a dirty old bum who knew no love
And I look up to see
Two other men who sit around
Reading novels
With bored tired faces.


Please don’t let me end up like this
All my life dried up
My spark snubbed out
Slouching and defeated
In a cafe seat
With only regret
And a cup of coffee for company


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