Bug's driving a crooked line

This week Bug is taking the wheel again, and this week her challenge was to write a poem starting with the line "I am a crooked line"

I must admit I cringed a tiny bit when I saw the task, feeling that I wouldn't do well, the crooked sixpence poem ringing loud in my head - but I dove in anyhoo - and below is the result - you'll find far crooked-er lines and better poems on the bus over here...

.

The Line

.

I am a crooked line

running through a life

making time

stretch or tumble

explosions of fine

delights or depths

of sadness defined

I follow my instinct

stumble on crimes

of passion or boredom

or closing of blinds

releasing the afternoon sun

from a kind

of duty to be there

weakened old shine

relieved to slink off

leaving grims to their grime

while I rise and I fall

or I slip to the side

life follows me, stupid

with wanting to mind

to live for one moment

feeling something divine

unaware it’ll keep -

keeping on with the line

that’ll never run straight

and gets home just in time

By the way, I wanted to apologise to recent drivers for my lack of letting them know I had bought a ticket - I noticed one week that Peter G did the same one week when he knew he wouldn't make it around to visit all the other passengers, and I felt I should do the same since I don't have the same time in blogland that I used to have... but anyway, there's my excuse - not notifying the driver makes me feel less guilty for not calling round to everyone - but I do still appreciate your comments and try to make it back for return visits to anyone who does call over...