Fortune- in Reality-
favors not just the Brave,
but those with Wit enough
to regard the Grave.
Fortune- in Reality-
favors not just the Brave,
but those with Wit enough
to regard the Grave.
What dreams have I- locked-
in some yellowing Scroll-
that Others will discover- nod-
or- ignore Them- all-
I wish I could get away
from all the distress,
all the pressure,
all the uncertainty.
I wish I had the means to
simply leave
and find a quiet place
where I could stop and look,
not think, just observe,
leaving all familiar faces behind me.
I wish I could find a place
where I wouldn’t have to worry
about being found
because I wouldn’t be lost, anyway.
I just want to find a place
where I have no past
and no future
to worry about.
Where is the crossing
of the stars? Not Here,
as is desired-
Youths wish it’d appear-
though- Consequences
be neglected- Outcomes-
rarely what expected,
or what one dreams-
Memorize the steps
you took, the Path left
will help as you move
forward, while you Journey yet.
Today’s date
attached to four names
I don’t recognize.
And I wonder
about names
attached to headstones,
about futures
attached to children
along with memories.
And these are people
who will only be remembered if
they fall under these circumstances-
if they had children,
if they are a character in someone’s story.
We remember historical figures
and celebrities
because of their national renown,
but who remembers
the little people
with their names printed
small
in newsprint?
Gulls are Harbingers-
as much as Robins, yet,
not appreciated as part
of Spring’s welcoming Quartet.
Once I cried from my powder blue room
my wails rising from my crib
like awful birds- beaks targeting ears
at which to peck.
Once I reached inside myself
and found the nerve to kick off the training wheels
and form my own path, unencumbered.
Once I found myself in a four square court
and the ball bounced between me
and people who introduced themselves
as they held that yellow rubber sphere.
Once I looked at the monochrome clock
that crouched, always in the same place,
on the mocha-brown walls of a building
that always smelled of new shoes and Lysol.
Once I found myself in a room-
painted a darker blue, the same
room where that doll-sized impression of myself
used its voice to rouse people from slumber.
Now I can use my voice to do the same,
but in spite of everything,
I take my own initiative
and set forth, out of the crib, onto the street, into the halls
on my own.
Moving on is a funny thing.
At times it seems impossible,
but then you come to a place
where you can look back
and laugh. And you may not
be happy, but
you’re getting there.
And another realization
hits-
that it’s time to move forward
and stop looking back.
“It’s almost impossible to let someone go when you know they’re not in the past; they’re alive, you’re alive, and you’re both living in the same present- just not always in the same place.”- Original
You can’t forget that they’re there.