Classic Poem

It will come about eventually …
I cannot be this ordered self forever.

Like the rumble of guns
From afar …

I am tired of mating and meandering.
I want the yellow canyons of desire.

I will be no docile thing—
But a restless eagle in space.

Threshing is better than sowing.
I have spread seeds too long!

Now there is rich harvest of the unknown—
Riot and strange thoroughfares.

There is din of thunder
And storm on the air.

Like the rumble of guns from afar
I cannot be this ordered self forever!