-The ridges of wrinkles accompany
the discoloration of hair.
Time turns to sediment,
scattered by each lost breath.
Before the burning embers,
eyes refuse to glisten.
The whisper in the wind becomes
nothing more than an echo.
Only the night brings solace and surrender,
after the day’s long hours.
Sleep’s oblivion weaves its way
between dreams and possibilities.
The lost hope of childhood is reimagined,
held together by sleep’s deep breaths.
But everything scatters at the call of day,
when the trench already dug reappears.
The weightlessness of childhood
becomes burdened by decision.
Choice anchors the journey
to the discovery of what lies within.
Guided by the breath of spirit,
or the abandonment of resolve.
Departure from this self created oracle
becomes an imposing feat.
Like truth burried beneath the sand,
under the weight of a tumultuous sea,
That ember of the soul, glows still,
in patient yearning for a whisper,
the breath that ignites recognition.
the flame that turns illusion to ash,
that even under such weight,
the reflection of hope may shine.