people are stuck sometimes
in the good or bad pieces of their past
or the image of self, frozen at 32
the cyberhallways jammed
with pretty young things
all in better years in better light.
Sad, trying to rappel back up a linear timeline
oblivious to the counterweight of reality.
Your life moving over the horizon, inexorably
like an old Johnny Cash
you see photos or video of yourself
from other angles, not the pretend
they’re shocking, like a crime scene
you’re so old, so frail, so scared
in that moment you see your death
Apache horses rising up on the ridge
too many of them to fight
you raise your hands
in a dead god above gesture,
giving up…
surrendering searching for blue
just one last glimpse of blue
in those final years of grey
By Drax Ireland
