… rantings of a depressive procrastinator. Did I mention, I write? …

Digging Through The Closets In My Mind

Digging Through The Closets In My Mind

Digging through the closets in my mind
like one in winter shivering from the cold
yearns for wool against the frozen wind.

Obstacles block places I can’t find.
Dust bunnies cozy in each musty fold
and hide from me rejoinders in my mind.

Dark secrets: I’ve created every kind
of shrouded circumstances, truth be told.
Remedies are lost upon the wind.

The face within the mirror’s growing lined.
Memory’s fingers tremble and, behold,
misplaced to some dark niche inside my mind.

So what I’m going for is undermined;
it’s worn like ancient fossils, smells of mold,
is slick from blowing long against the wind.

What can I do but leave it all behind.
Let young newcomers pan for brighter gold
than lies within recesses of my mind
and disappears on autumn’s evening wind.

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