Through time

John Milam
Jul 29, 2017 · 2 min read

Down in the dumps again,

curving through time again,

fond memories only remind me

of happy times that are now over

and goals once pursued and then given up

too soon

have lead me to this empty place

where I sit, as my mom says,

“waiting for time.”

Of course I can attribute most

of my bad choices to bipolar,

or depression,

or brain injury,

or whatever the fuck I have.

But it doesn’t make me feel better.

At any rate,

all has conspired to leave me here,

this temporary still-born palace of life,

the one I can renounce whenever I choose,

and go back to life in an ashram paradise,

the very one I left because it limited my freedom,

or so I thought.

Now I remember with nostalgia

the sweaty day-after-day

of south India in May,

my white shirt like a second wet skin,

sweeping the canteen floors

only thinking of being back in my room

where I could listen to music that I chose,

not the unending bhajans from speakers too loud,

and dreaming only of being back here in the west…

So I can only conclude

that it doesn’t matter where I am,

I always dream of being somewhere else.

So where am I?

Only here, now.

7/28/17

John Milam

Written by

I write poetry and sometimes even poetry that rhymes. Sometimes I start a little negative but I try to bring it up by the end. Or not.

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