Walking the World

The world is small,
And it’s getting smaller still,
But still I wait for the time
When its magnitude can be measured
With only three steps.
One to leave my home,
One to cross the road,
And one to reach your waiting arms.
But photographs burn
In an overused tirade against the unknown,
Reason, an old friend, and bitter enemy
Sending his roots out again.
He clings to my sneakers with hooks,
Pulling me to the ground,
Making every step a million,
Every breath a thousand,
Every second a year gone
That I can’t get back
While I search for you.
The road is one step wide,
But covers more ground
Than I could hope to traverse
In a lifetime of traipsing,
In a journey of words that fill hundreds of pages but that no-one ever reads,
Because the world is small,
And it’s getting smaller still,
But it’s not small enough,
And no-one wants to accept that.