Wasting Time

We all reach that point in time, when we start to ponder that next version of ourselves.
Like the sad old shit I am,
Pondering the past,
Wondering, where it went,
Trying to drown the youthful memories,
So much clearer in my mind,
Than any future to come,
Than the present's roar to attention.

I want to abort from reality,
Revert to the eiderdown,
To snuggle in the warmth of a dream,
Drenched in yesterday.

It's cold today,
Too cold to face reality,
The grass is chilled with dew,
It's blades cut at my ankles,
With the swish of early winter breeze,
The idiot sun burns like ice;
After his luring promise of warmth;
I feel cheated!

Tomorrow is strange and far away,
A flicker of ancient candle,
The lure to an unknown realm,
Leaves me anxious and afraid,
Uncertain of what lies beyond the quilt.

Let me sleep, is all I ask,
That I may be allowed to conjure,
From my dreams, a form of escape from,
The fear that mars my future.
I'm too old to look forward,
Too young to plead for death...
I'm middle-aged, quarantined,
On a purgatory ledge.

Published: 1/11/2019
Bouquets and Brickbats