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.
All I do
is wake up
and think of myself;
my problems,
my views,
my fears,
my wants
and needs.
What if
I woke up
and only thought of you;
your problems,
your views,
your fears,
your wants,
and all that you need.
Would you still be there?
What do you see?
A show and
a world of make-believe;
gardens with roses
in full bloom,
like smiles
on family photographs
and distorted faces;
this camera
captures –
spontaneity –
but narcissism
and dress rehearsals
go together
like stages and actors;
it’s on face value,
grains of salt –
take a second look,
it’s on the tip of my tongue –
behind the scenes
of our perfect little world –
once read between the lines,
and now viewed between feeds,
we can now
only imagine
the horror
that lies behind
fake plastic smiles.
Lewis Walddren 