the slow walker

With fifteen minutes
to eternity, I
worked up a frenzy.
Shuddering in my
seat at the sheer
thought of having
been left behind.
Poetic license is
grossly exaggerated.
It taints the artist
whilst guiding the
blind. I hurried.
Before the feelings
come back. They
always come back.
Stronger, complaining
they never left.