Life Is A Passport Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Life is a passport
And exactly where you decide to take it
It's completely your choice
Some people never go anywhere
And gather dust and cobwebs like nobody's business
And live life like stale bread, a mouldy, unwanted,
Petrified house guessed, curtain twitching.
Only there's no new TV meals
And only themselves for company.

Others are jealously frivolous.
About how they spend their time and money.
They fearlessly burn like the sun.
And shuns the cowardly others.
With their limitless fun and frolics.
They live life like a rubber ball,
Always testing their boundaries and helter-skeltering
From one calamity to the next, on drink
And LSD. Always blameless,
Cosying up to a sympathetic ear,
A shoulder to cry on and take to a sofa bed.

Sure, it's complicated looking ahead.
Do I need insurance?
Where should I even go?
Who, if any, should I travel with?
So many destinations?
Do I take the first cheap flight on offer?
Go self-catering, or take the all-inclusive,
Or maybe just take a weekend break,
A wild plunge and later maybe
Simply remain on good terms
With this ex-lover as a good but complicated friend.
A singleton with no real fixed plans,
A mixture of the two paradoxes.
Just coordinating each step as they go.
Fearless but guarded, that not everyone
Who you travel with will
Deserve first-class seats at every primetime show.