Habit

The lullaby of repetition lulls
the mind into comfortable routine
where the drone of the humdrum singsong dulls
the senses in a rhythmic sameness mien.

To eat, to breathe, to sleep, to defecate,
the perpetual rise and fall of sex,
are all, no doubt, traits we canít relegate
since they wear the habit of natureís lex,

but the bodyís just tyranny neednít
dictate to an impressionable mind
that the gift of choice is not most piquant
for all who wish lifeís substance to be mined.

The salmon leap against the riverís flow
is the sole defiance I wish to know.