Half a Beat Behind
A short poem about moving faster than the heart can follow.
Of late, I move at such a pace—
my feet have gone,
but my heart still waits,
half a beat behind in place.
From here to there, I drift away,
yet here still holds me when I stray.
From there, I turn and wander home,
yet there still haunts me where I roam.
Do I truly wish to linger here,
or follow what is waiting there?
Perhaps I ought to pause awhile,
and let my heart catch up, mile by mile.