The Unruly King

The pattern is the same, predictable.
The path is mercilessly worn, familiar.
The assent is measured, deliberate.
The destination is predetermined, safe.

For a second I pause, contemplating the unknown.
A quiet moment of wondering, wondering what lies ahead.
To deviate from the matrix, to embrace the beckoning abyss.
To become the lion instead of the lemming,
an unruly king instead of the drone.

I savor the moment, if but a fleeting one.
For reality awaits me just beyond the next bend.
The voices of the innocents softly but constantly compel my direction.
My will concedes, the drone falls back into line.


To be the unruly king, although intoxicating, becomes unimaginable.


...I did savor the moment though.


...If but a fleeting one.