Death by Neglect

Am I on the threshold? Or merely peering over another crest in this hilly field through which the path of life leads? How much longer do I have to roam through these bittersweet smelling flowers. Stalks of exotic flowers that caress my hands when their thorns do not prick me. I am struck with wonder, even after all the jabs and the pricks and the drops of blood that drip from clogging veins, that I am as fortunate as to be in this field of measured wonder. How long can this ... will this go on?

I dream that there are more beautiful places yet to stop at in my journey. Vistas more wondrous than even my contorted imagination could conceive. Beyond android women. And screaming babies and mothers with no compassion. Beyond thoughts of creaking necks and crackling thumbs. Above and beyond reality that is current and now and present and gone all at once.

I dream of things that should not be spoken. Perhaps they must be uttered outside of my head. Or perhaps they are simply dreams of what could have been if time could be rewound like an old pocket watch.

Before I drift off to sleep - my eyelids that are curtains closing on another lonely day. A play of five acts with five monologues and all with me. The shadows keep me company. The light that shines through misty windows ancient grilling.

Good night, my precious day. Good day to another dream of old and new - of concrete trees and ships that sail anew.