Observations of a Detained Mind

Cutback from progress,
footloose and honest.
These are the pundits
of our fate.

When sits and broods
the poet,
through all the weathers
the climates,
leans back the painted
footnotes of authority.

Rude the comments,
with memory of self regard.
One to follow them
blindly,
one to stand on guard.

These are men of importance,
observe them as they pass.
They are all too human.
Judges, even of our past.

Our future lays there
in their shivering palms.
One less to worry about
if they drop it fast.

We are always taken aback,
always under impression
that we are being held back.
We are in depression.

Our coats, our hats,
come off easy
when they come to visit.
Looking down on everything
and anything.

We are all being held accountable
for all of our actions.
Now we must ask some questions.
It is that which
is to be ascertained...
What greatness lies ahead?
And not to stop at inquisition,
let us as well
go far
and break the solid-gaseous-liquid,
build another road of ours.