Swallow hard and hope the bitterness would pass this time
Looking around, she realized
Maybe it wasn’t a dream
This life she led
This life she lived,
Maybe this was the truth she tried not to believe
And ran away from every chance she could

Gray hairs sprouting between streaks of time
Splashes of refreshment or one’s eventual demise,
Hiding and waiting to tell their tale
Of their rugged fair share

Left over regrets spill from some other page and symphony
Watching from the shadows as always
Sits on the bench just out of hearing
Listening of plans for a week
What week, whose week, next week …

It’s all the same when skies are frayed
Laughter is vacant when the big mistake
Looms over,
Reminding
Denouncing
The lumpy path taken is not bound with joy
Sacrifices left on the plate,
Forgotten

And all she has are the memories
All she had was her dreams
Nothing left but to turn in?
Die to one’s self or
Carry on as before

Vacation at Tahoe
Fly out this evening …

04/01/2008

Posted on 04/02/2008
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