I was there
Beneath it all
Stubbing my nose
Catching my eyes
On the most soulful of gifts
There was a promenade
Then music
A chef in a tall white hat
Shouting at the top of his lungs
As cracked eggs
Desperately tried
To reimagine themselves
As whole again.
They did not wish to change.
I am a poem
And I am nothing
I am a man
And I am nothing
I am a before
Yet to embark
On an after
Could this be it?
I think of
What could have been
If I had done this
If I had done that
And switch
Paralyzed.
The horizon
Fades at dusk
And is reimagined
At dawn
How I wish
I were content
To be ok
With such a simple
Routine
Progress
Achievements
Recognition
Advancement
Awards
Realization
The screw turns to tighten
To hold
Only to rust
Be forgotten
Put in the back of the pantry
Read from afar
The days of the sun
Are over
Darknesses lengths
Are upon us
Taste of the hubris of the moon
Its position is fixed
Such a fact, such a reserved space
Where will the moon go
But anywhere
But here?
And of us?
Where will our bones go?
Our me minds?
Our fleeting psyche?
The I is none other
But the billionth petal
Of a flaming sunflower
In a field
Surrounded by the identical
Taste ash
Mixed with honey
As the buzz of the bees
Fade.