Into The Mystic

And things end,
because they begin,
and the seasons pass me by
while I grow older,
not necessarily bolder,
because time is a circle
that spins,
and I chase it,
no one wins
this kind of race,
round and round I go,
I feel slow
so I attempt to pace
my self,
or I may face
myself,
and I would rather not,
because time slips through
my hands
as do my plans,
I am a poem
at midnight,
refusing to let yesterday go
or accept that what I feel
is all I know,
and yet life is not a cognitive affair,
but a dance with myself
on a planet that spins
in outer space,
and I’m anonymous
without a face,
waiting for the bus
to bring me to the place
I’m supposed to be,
an adult version of me,
a captain of a marvelous vessel,
exploring everything,
the sea
and gravity
and what it means to be
and not to be
in the same breath
for as long as I can
before death
when the fog horn whistle blows
and I sail into the mystic.

And things end,
because they begin,
and the seasons pass me by
while I grow older,
not necessarily bolder,
because time is a circle
that spins,
and I chase it,
no one wins
this kind of race,
round and round I go,
I feel slow
so I attempt to pace
my self,
or I may face
myself,
and I would rather not,
because time slips through
my hands
as do my plans,
I am a poem
at midnight,
refusing to let yesterday go
or accept that what I feel
is all I know,
and yet life is not a cognitive affair,
but a dance with myself
on a planet that spins
in outer space,
and I’m anonymous
without a face,
waiting for the bus
to bring me to the place
I’m supposed to be,
an adult version of me,
a captain of a marvelous vessel,
exploring everything,
the sea
and gravity
and what it means to be
and not to be
in the same breath
for as long as I can
before death
when the fog horn whistle blows
and I sail into the mystic.