Seasoned eyes, see both the past and present.
Bookended between times now out of mind.
A tattered soul recalls a steep ascent.
Experiences; a life intertwined.
Understand that time cares not, how it’s spent.
All the times, those of good and those of bad.
The highs and lows between love and sorrow.
What’s known of joy came from being sad.
Hearts rejoicing; in what is tomorrow.
Hope to come, dismisses all that was had.
The toughest of paths; self-discovery,
leads the wanderer to a quiet place.
Beneath, leaves and limbs, silence covers thee.
It’s here with himself; he comes face to face.
No greater bliss than one’s recovery.
Written November 2, 2015
With my back against the wall
I fall
Down never ending staircases
That spiral down below
To seas where books float downstream
Along open pages reflecting past memories
Spinous leather bound by visionaries
Bookended and upended
I'm nothing but a cog
A pawn in this epilogue
Rosencrantz and Gildenstern are dead
And with them I make my bed
Lost in the littered pages of history
My life is bordering the brink
So does it matter what I think?
You'll miss me if you blink
Writing this book in disappearing ink