All that's left is the excitement of the present, but where is it going? The path disappears and the forest turns dark- the trees start talking in rustling whispers and that is a scary picture, my friend.
Such is life- ironic- so ironic it's not even that ironic anymore. expected.
My wrinkles deepen as I smile- to show that there is proof I once was happy. A bitter reminder of a lost past- summers ago. Turn back the earth a couple hundred spins. Travel seems so precocious now.
Redundancy: a thing of my past- my future. And I wonder, while sipping coffee gone cold, "will I ever be as awake as I once thought I was?"
Maybe it's that mono. speaking- seeping into my fine lines and crevices on my brain. They speak volumes to my old age- or rather, old spirit- young at heart yet so apparently jaded. It seems. So it seems.
The never years- like a winder wonderland with out the white horses and sleigh bells. The never never land where time stands still and you forget your past- and the future never comes around.
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