You'd think I would love it, but it ain't so,
The noise, the chaos from morning until night bothers me greatly,
like thoughts that will not move out of sight.
Oh, but for silence where can it be found?
I thought so in nature but there isn't any around.
My steps tentative judiciously so.
I worry, will I trip, will I fall? Will I fail?
I write that the path should be this way or that.
But the path though winding and tenuous doesn't need to be changed
It is my mindfulness or lack thereof that needs to be exposed
so with each step I pay attention as the consequences are great
Can I bring this back when it seems to matter less so?
I thought this, a writer's retreat, and the lessons would be there.
But instead it is with the simple footsteps that follow me as I leave the room
That there lay this..