Carousels and corridors
Go the same way
Inevitably on
To the end of the foray
A halt or a doorway
Climbing down or stepping through
Which I do
To run away run away
But the running takes me nowhere
It has no place or time
All worlds are corridors and carousels
To walk down or climb.

A runaway is a ghost of self
With an extant shadow,
A haunt to stay
And a purpose to go.