Notwithstanding
Futile seeker, such dispassion,
           careless,
           or mere detachment,
as you wonder aimlessly
along shadowed paths
and whisper words of encouragement to thy self.
Sometimes out loud,
sometimes silently;
but all weigh heavy upon your heart.


Once a meager child,
but innocent not;
the world breathed
with each new step,
           today was everything,
           no thoughts of tomorrows.
Now, years added
           and pasts sheltered away,
you question each ensuing second
as if it be your last.
Memories are a momentary refuge;
a place to hold the residue
of time
slipped through indifferent fingers.


(Copyright 2010, Steven S. Walsky, all rights reserved.)

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stevesw
Poetry
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poetry, narrative, flash fiction, novel
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