DEPARTED

DEPARTED

The weeks are passing by so quickly these days.

As each hour ticks by to a grandfather clock's talk,

Like clockwork, I dream through every pendulum sway.

And when I wake up it's time to sleep again.

I wish I could harvest these thoughts ripening on dendrite vines-

Pluck each one and watch them age fine as distinguished wine.

Instead, I insist on vying to be bottled without a name.

But alas, like an absent moon hiding from the rays,

I've been departed as of late.

And as time ever flows yet ever goes,

I remember what it tastes like

To carelessly waste it.

Now, I ache as every fruitful reflection

Dissipates into thin vapor whisps.

My sore bones make me question if

Some strife for immortality is the best solution to it-

This pressure to pour myself out and prove

None of my human experience was fake.

Shall I fear the fate of a tree fallen silently,

Creating factory lines of bottles filled

With the most unforgettably flavored identity,

Manufacturing sips of their favorite stories

as I cling to

Drops of myself that will make them drink to me?

I can't help but think,

In these departed days,

What if all we're meant to do is never stay the same-

To evolve with each novel flavor combination,

To create new pigments within every season of passion and pain?

What if I could romanticize myself without some perfect portrait

As I grow in and out of these tangled neural pathways,

Living on forever in every crest and trough of

space,

Savoring each fleeting piquancy of fermented

grapes,

Dependent on the weather for each delicate

taste,

Thriving under the warmth of summer

Or even amidst crisp winter

rain?