I mourn what life could have been,
and all the canvases I did not buy and did not fill.
Especially not learning to tango.
I grieve the air in my dreams,
the air I cleave to,
that would have swept my hair through its mid,
and sliced right through me in a clean stroke,
moving on in its silver light
as I cycle through the village;
past broken houses and broken homes
set in landscapes, perfect
for Japanese stories.
And peace...
I mourn.
I am not depressed, I am simply unimpressed,
and pressed,
by childhood stories
that had me pinned in pink-blue skies,
shining for a bird to pick.
Not depressed,
neither am I suicidal,
just dialed in,
maybe stressed,
just a little worn out by the stretch.
Life has been a stretch,
and I had my hands nailed
to my childhood dreams,
dreams hammered to those blue-pink skies.
Let those heavens cry.
Mar 13
Mar 13, 2026 at 10:20 AM UTC
I mourn what life could have been,
and all the canvases I did not buy and did not fill.
Especially not learning to tango.
I grieve the air in my dreams,
the air I cleave to,
that would have swept my hair through its mid,
and sliced right through me in a clean stroke,
moving on in its silver light
as I cycle through the village;
past broken houses and broken homes
set in landscapes, perfect
for Japanese stories.
And peace...
I mourn.
I am not depressed, I am simply unimpressed,
and pressed,
by childhood stories
that had me pinned in pink-blue skies,
shining for a bird to pick.
Not depressed,
neither am I suicidal,
just dialed in,
maybe stressed,
just a little worn out by the stretch.
Life has been a stretch,
and I had my hands nailed
to my childhood dreams,
dreams hammered to those blue-pink skies.
Let those heavens cry.