We can wake up again before the sunrise.
Steadily slip out down the driveway to the wide open spanse of green.
Settle down on the stark wooden bench we’ve known a lifetime.
Pass a thought here or there, else not heard nor seen.
Driven by sun, inching closer towards the horizon.
I often miss that blanket of mist that smothers our aging, weathering field.
Months slip past, again we forget our need to blink.
Only reminded of our faults when the suns beams lead our mist to yield.
If the morning mist held out, not just only for the sunrise.
We’d stare into our futures ’til the end, living nothing along the way.
Inhaling each sharp, cool breath of grassy air.
But this mist we’ve lost ourselves in lacks dimension. Blurry and grey.
Only certain of each breath that infiltrates our lungs.
As I feel my chest expand and even still, a tainted doubt often remains within.
This bench we’ve long forgotten, now cracked, unstable and chipping of it’s last brush of paint.
Leaves a yearning pit in my stomach, I’d settle just for one more morning, again.
I can’t move forward every day,
And setbacks will put me miles away from here and now.
But letting go of the simplicities I’ve always loved,
For the sake of a faster forward, just isn’t how.