Just meandering, dear.
A day in the life of a
Mere man. A can of grief in his hand.
Smoke clouds above billowing.
Hopes tapered down into small
Twigs by time.
And noticing,
The sun rises quite the same.
Just as bright from the east still.
Blue drapes still paint the beyond
As they have always.
And the black nights are still speckled in glitter.
Yet time itself seems to have gone racing right past our feeble slow
Old wrinkled perception.
And before you draw from the pipe it's tomorrow. Again.
Barely time left to remember.
To draw upon all you learned
Who you loved and those who are gone.
It's a bitter bright yellow sunrise today.
And it's all done gone in its glory
In my last
heartbeat.