I seem to be slipping from the real world
the world of making money and paying bills

I've grown uncomfortable with the ritual
of going to and fro

unmindful of the journey
the play of grasses in the wind

I seem to want the solitude
the earth upon my hands

the stillness of the water
the quiet of the night

I seem to be maturing
a fruit ripening on the vine.


(Previously published in Pulse Magazine, Oct. '99; featured in American Studies 210, Campus Ecology, at St. Olaf College, MN)

Laurence Overmire

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/real-world/