My mind drifts,
downstream,
to reminisce,
and to predict –
anxious
of what is
to become.
I float
toward this unknown,
waterfalls, lakes, oceans –
new shores to rest upon;
what becomes of me
has little to do
with the stories I tell,
and everything to do
with the decisions I make.
My mind drifts,
and if I could,
I would plant myself
but I can’t find my feet
to ground myself;
so I plant new seeds,
leave myself
to float away,
and begin again
some other day.
I read,
seeing not believing,
in search of meaning,
myself reflected through stories,
my mind wonders and dreams.
I write in my diary,
not knowing what I think,
how I feel or what to say,
but words appear,
vicariously.
I walk,
but the woods offer no shelter.
Ghosts appear
to taunt me – humour me!
Self-indulgence is my sweet tooth.
The future exists at dawn,
and by dusk I see myself.
As I reflect in the mirror,
all I see are blemishes
that reveal nothing new.
I’ll dream tonight,
distorting memory,
and because of morning’s sense of humour,
I’ll never forget
where I am.
All the while never knowing
who I am.
Lewis Walddren 