A Lack of Destinations

I have never decided whether walking when the sign changes
is progress or not, when there are no paths,
just sidewalks in every direction all leading to nothing more
than commerce of different colors, fast fashion
and the onion filled air of food trucks. Everyone in a hurry
except it seems, me. It is less about being uncertain
than it is for the first time you do not see where you are going.
There is no destination.
Does it matter then whether I walk or sit and stay?
There are things to do. People who matter. Gods to serve.
I can do all these things sitting in place, without travel,”
without paths, without the need to climb,
even if it feels strange (and it does).
It has not been my way. There has always been a journey,
travel, new places to make home, a place to go,
and today, there is not. I simply am, which is supposed to be
enough, but today I am not feeling enough, but lost
in the familiar.
I sigh, the sigh of the lovesick, still somehow a teenager
with all the broken parts showing, thinking perhaps
age is not all its cracked up to be.
Meanwhile the stop and go sign has changed three times
And I am in the same place with different people, waiting
for the signs to change again, telling more than stop and go,
but where and why.

About this poem.

Sometimes a poem percolates for a while and then somehow still manages to surprise you.

The picture was taken in the streets of New York.

Tom