. There’s an ancient duct tape patched roller suitcase still up in the attic, scarred by sky miles and undiscerning indifference; it came to rest like a final breath exhaled at the end of the long road ―
In the dusty rafters of silent repose the death of an alter-ego comes to life and jars and jogs the sleeping dogs that lay benign as a pothole riddled road
Holding onto memories buried alive, hidden away remembered ― sans wings to fly away laid bare unweighed with the weight of everything else garnered and saved subsisting in a shallow grave; hoarded and hidden away breathing locked up with the other baggage borne behind tired eyes
Feeling the ache of blood stained knees falling down sullied at the side of the road Hindsight and a roll of duct taped memories linger; stuck to the grey bandage scars, second guessing should have thrown out with the permanently temporary fading plasticized luggage name-tags back when I was still close enough to care; too many miles to reconsider ago
Some say: "it's the journey not the destination" . Some day when its too late we'll know Some day it will be too late to make amends for everything i could not be ...
harlon rivers ... 07 06 2018
apologies for the inconsistent reading, posts and replies. Internet access comes and goes up here off the grid