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EPITAPH
by
Copyright İİ 2000 All rights reserved.
Some days it seems like eternal twilight is looking over my shoulder. And those days I'm whispering on the wind "not yet. Not yet I still have much to do." I'm sailing the winds from dust to dawn on borrowed time and borrowed wings. And when midnight comes my wings are clipped and time runs down. I smoke too much; I work too hard and play too little. Twilight will find me wary, tired, and labored of breath. I am ruled by a world of material things . . . tethered to a life of trivial solidarity. My existence is met by monetary value and I am loved according to my contribution.
I grow tired of the concrete jungle, the cold world of paved roads, high rise castles, and engine driven carriages. My window is a twenty-seven inch screen.
I would live life, but I have found instead that life has been living me. The darkness in my soul, the gray matter that exists between the white and black has had much time for warring and I have lost my magic. How do I find my way when I have wandered so far from the path? I stumble about in the dark as one that is blind and has never seen. The territory is unfamiliar and my surroundings are unfriendly. And I speak to those I've left behind, faces barely remembered from a poorly celebrated youth. Remember me.
Remember me.