on the mend
all of my fondest memories
all feel just like a dream
half coherent, vaguely poetic
but nothing quite concrete
but that which is immutable
undeniable, certain as sleet
will haunt my smallest saddest thoughts
as I drift off in going to sleep
living in the now is just a fleeting fantasy
when my head's on a swivel it's never quite fixed
to enjoy the now would simply be insanity
over my shoulder and on the horizon are where I find myself transfixed
rear view mirror, though it's foggy
and not as far as it appears
is the lens I tend to see myself
looking through for most of my years
because if I'm being honest
as obvious as it seems
all of my future prospects
all feel just like a dream