A Stagnated Young Man
It may be long to you,
but mine has either burned out,
or has never been lit.
And nights, nights,
sometimes party,
sometimes alone with headaches and backaches
and no job tomorrow.
I know now
how Kerouac must have felt.
You mine if I tag along Sal.
The road the only friend
to a friend looking to start,
or finishing up.
My candle burns,
but is not consumed
and I still pray for God to talk.
So, let me see you,
let me see you America.
Step into your light,
so I can see your beautiful blemishes
and your ugly perfections.
Let me see what I am up against.
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