In a street full of faces unknown,
I look for one,
to call my own.
Lest I miss that fleeting chance,
to receive, return,
that lingering glance.
Time's tricks reveal more gray,
than all the blacks 'n' whites,
in the fray.
The road looms ahead, unsure,
if there's a hand,
to hold, to assure.
Others around me seem so certain,
in such matters, I
struggle to appertain.
A random, permanently perplexed man-child,
an untrimmed creeper,
that ran wild.
Afraid to pass through life in limbo,
and then it's all done,
a lifeless bimbo.
I wish I knew my place,
to get through,
with a straight face.
In sharp moments it all seems a farce,
in the survival game,
living seems sparse.
Even if it might be never,
I can't help looking,
with a fever.
I can not help but ponder,
melancholy aplenty,
and wonder....
Should I give up,
Or should I just keep chasing pavements,
even if it leads nowhere?
The poem's title, and the last stanza are copied from, "Chasing Pavements" by Adele.
