Poetry (Sort Of)

The wild: it calls to me,
“Forsake humanity, and be truly free!”
But alas, I fear:
The wild is danger; what lurks out here?

The wood of the forest, the rock of the mountain:
Though beautiful, I dare not try to surmount them.
And nymphs who call to me with sweet voices:
They seek to prey on my poor choices.

But oh, to be free!
To embrace the wild, the chaos, the uncertainty.
To refuse to be clothed, to spurn civil tongue,
To cry out in bliss, purging each lung.

To scoff at the plans and procrastinated pleasure,
To indulge in delights and vices sans measure,
To live in the moment, come whatever may,
And not worry about tomorrow; to be here today.

Were I to do things once more, to start life anew,
I can think of some changes: more than a few.
I’d spend less time planning and saving and skimping on now;
I’d embrace the wild, go with the flow…though I know not how.

My life is not bad; don’t get me wrong.
But I cannot ignore the nymphs’ sweet song.
And thinking through life that went another way,
I can’t help but wonder: have I gone astray?

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