a poem about moving
I’m scared if I stop moving, I will cease to grow.
If I settle down or plant roots, I’ll become old and dull.
The world is so big. It never ends.
There’s so much to do. So much to see. So much to conquer.
I need to move again.
I’m addicted to moving forward, moving on, moving up.
Whether it’s to a new place or to a new mind space,
each step has to be a little more challenging then the last.
When do I stop? When can I rest