Works in Progress
Life changed as we got older
perspectives crisscross applesauced
across cities and dreams and time —
That ever shifting, moving, poignant muse
full of nostalgia and excitement,
sadness and fear — flowed across continents
Tinged with a butterfly regret that flitters
briefly touching every consequence.
He said, “I made a mistake”, like I’d done
years ago, when he was riding the high
at the opposite end of the world
from the abyss of self I laid in,
Wastelands filled with young love
and younger mistakes.
At some point, you realise growing older
merely means moving away.
some distances span centuries,
too far to bridge
oceans of memories and pain, washing clean
the butterfly regrets that shatter
consequences we built
every flit of time a gentle reminder
footprints paused and erased
by the waves of nostalgia that beckons
but never matters
until you learn.
I learnt that the abyss didn’t define me
that monsters are people too
and time; that funny, poignant muse,
is a shadow, flitting through the canopy of life.
I learnt that it’s funny
how a sentence can change worlds
once perspective shifts
and the abysses I thought I was buried in?
Buried me in centuries
bridged only by my memories.
