it’s bittersweet to survey the field
of one’s becoming
with an eye to what’s real
and (what could never be?)
reminisce about the past
holding (close) those moments
which slipped from our hands
forever lost into dust and decay —
opportunities missed
or relationships broken
and an ever fractured ego
faced with its own faded reflection.
i’d turn back the hands of time
if given half the chance
but what would emerge from nothingness
when shadows brought to life
once again cross our path?
perhaps goodbye
was always the better option
and (maybe held fast
in that disguise)
the chance for one’s redemption.
