A.W.O.L. (Poetry)

This poem is an escapée —
it spotted a thin gap
in a casually dull day
and slipped through without permission.

An opportunist full of revoluntionary ideas
(no well-thought-out three-step plan
no respect for any rules ...)
it simply cut and ran.

The pen fought hard but failed
to track and pin it down
as it wriggled inbetween long dotted lines
but no Hadrian’s wall of words could stop it —

the idea got clean away. Unfound
it’s out there somewhere — wandering
a free verse trying to remain anonymous.
Its sense a fading dream — old passion gone
                                                to ground.