I sit alone,
Draped in the curtains of Reminiscence
Stitched a misty memory a time
Stained with wretched pride and pretense;
If only my broodings would cleave away
The failings that hold me in their sway.
So I hope.
I sit uneasily,
Resting upon the hill I’ve scaled alone
A throne I’ve built of my fallacies
I gaze longingly at the sights below:
Twirling pathways of pleasing possibility
At each end a different person to be.
Yet, less unproven than the present one
Uncertainty is writ over my Decisions,
Never easy, the trail one chooses to run
I lament that in looking so far ahead,
The first stride, sadly, falls to dread.
Yet I hope.
I sit impotent,
With vain visions of ventures and victory;
Is the clenching of past splendor futile?
My words are no more gallant; so suddenly,
Rendering all I’ve done harrowingly hollow,
I utter a valediction, to set a schism to follow.
And as I finally take the first step down
Alas, my kingdoms, they turn to sand;
My heart feels the foretaste of a frown
As their sifting whimpers of decay torment me
It is hard; but I only look ahead, to what will be.
And I hope.