We swing our arms

like oars as we wade into the sunken

temple of our future selves, the stones

our hands carved out from the mountains

we saw as children; that range now a deep

and walled ditch in the ground filled

with a lake of memories and the laughing

faces of friends who wanted us to stay,

but refused to go with us,

and now we wait someday for the drop-off

as we push our bodies forward, when our feet

will lose the bottom and our hands will wave

above us like slow shadowy sails as we sink

and we’ll tell ourselves we had to keep going,

but all we’ll find’s what we left behind.

One comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.