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Someone said the hand you hold
Is the hand that holds you down
Slowing your progress
Cooling your fire
Tapping your speed
Changing your direction
Redirecting as best can
A racing steed filled with passion, power
Holding on and reined back
Struggling fighting
Chomping your bit
You negotiate, gesticulate, masticate
Toward some mutual compromise
Acceptable but distasteful.
So do you advance under control
Or gallop unhindered?
Civilized or wild?
Bureaucracy or anarchy?
My racing ballooning spirit cries to
shoot forth like a tracer bullet,
whose fire burns a thousand times hotter than petty mortals.
He who burns brightest burns fastest.
But what a ride!
It's not an easy choice.
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