(improvised poem for the purposes of requesting an invite)

But so it goes,
And so it goes,
Tiring spiral,
Slow decline,
Lined with turmoil,
Past the prime,
Sinking motion,
Lost in time,
Dulled emotion,
Loosened line,
Dull and heavy
Sadness grows,
And heaven knows,
But so it goes.

When young we look ahead, ignoring the mirror to the road behind,
full throttle forwards, pushing obstacles aside, eye on the prize, fulfilling parent's unmet desires.

When the road repeats and we run out of stimulus, we risk a glance, to remind ourselves what we left behind.

Often, it's only then that we are able to understand the places we once inhabited, or passed through. It's our first chance to have an objective view on the landscapes behind.

Landscapes we couldn't read when we travelled within them. Dodging between gigantic problems stacked against us. Ducking projectiles and outrunning stones thrown in anger, indifference, or sometimes vicious amusement. Our focus, only on the chaotic random patterns we must weave to survive. Running at the limits, burning potent fuel, stressing to the edge, in order to make it through.

Often, when we take a moment to check the rear view mirror, we can't help but marvel that we ever made it out.