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In Reverse, I Race Forward

my old scarred desk is a dusty shrine
to well spent life and fulfilled time
ever evolving into quiet chaos

small snippets clipped from the truth in life
read and re-read
executing the next epiphany
keyboard worn and yellowed with age
an old friend that stays

and waits, quietly

for another midnight inspiration

the air lingers
heavy with smoke here
an old chipped
comfortable ash tray
paying homage to the neat mound of ashes
and cancerous cells released

spent thoughts and ideas
up in smoke

I am a writer
but my liquid thoughts have grown stale
leaving glass stains upon the once-shiny wood
now, scarred and weather-beaten
littered with thoughts that have eaten veneer away

cryptic circles
silently resting on the dull oak finish

a homage to hours spent revealing intricacies
often misunderstood
at times I label them quite good

regardless of the theme, it is my life unraveled
red carpet to a gelatinous brain
a place where I think
and I dream
squeezed umbilical cord tight
I hunger for air, found only in a word release

I am reborn
pretending
I do not quietly accept defeat
absence whispers my name
I eat words and digest wisdom

inconsistency afloat
hoping one day not to be remembered
for the words I share
simply for the laughter and joy
and the ability to see, we are all individually
treasures to be savored
flying epiphany's on wisdom's wings

I sway in a sacred rhythm
hear thoughts drumming in my head
like an unshackled priest
I repent and forge ahead
until this body is spent
and I sip from the Holy Grail

story bled

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