warm mason
Something is seeping into my bones.
A stillness, a silence, a chill.
It’s slowing me down,
Decreasing my heartbeat,
Making me quiet, pensive,
Causing me to look up and back,
In the rear view mirror.
Hindsight’s 20/20, I belatedly remember.
Eyes begin to burn in sharp discomfit,
Grimacing against the bright glare of poor choices,
And trying to see through the sudden,
Misty haze that’s appeared,
Searching for Easter eggs
I didn’t catch the first time.
It’s giving me a headache.
Prying open the crate
Of moments long past,
Which so many others claim to’ve viewed so clearly.
A collection spanning over four decades
Is still freshly cringeworthy.
There’s always more there
Than I ever recall,
And never ceases to make me shudder.
I’m disturbed by what lies beyond rose colored visions,
Fairly certain I won’t appreciate
The inevitable reality
Of those particular shades of grey.
They wash me out, you know,
Until I misplace myself,
And no one can see me at all.
Damn it, I’m lost again.
Eyes slam shut,
Lids pressed together
Tight enough to extend crow’s feet
To each temple,
As I chide myself
For inspecting what can’t be changed,
Mourning the loss of moments I never had,
And experiences I never wanted.
Keep driving.
Hit the gas,
Turn up the music,
And tap out the beat on the steering wheel
‘Til it drowns out
These obstinate mental meanderings.
I still don’t know where I’m going,
But the faster I get there,
The farther I’ll be
From everything that made me wise.
hollow drift