Compromised

If I want to go out I have to carry you and I do it because I am the one who prefers the bucolic What do we do? Idle here all day Caught somewhere between a burden, a hope, a dream? I do not wish to be mean but surely chronic serene Becomes just as unpleasant, as trying as colic? There is a half way revisit a mainstay No more than a shift of scene a downtown theatre, a mere cafe, a park, a gallery? Even a library This nothing, nothingness Must be just as upsetting for you but until we collude conspire, come together, agree We rest, we abide, we debate and seize all that lies in wait