I run past an old couple
a child on a bike,
all the stages of life,
& I think about my own,
the quarter of it
thats already past,
but a quarter is different currency
to someone else
in another country,
in another state of health.
Long ago i would be middle aged
longer ago i might be dead
even further back
I might be a star or a speck
I might just be silence
an ever absorbing black
but now I could be anything
i could be but,
reality & doubt seem to project something else
what am i evolving to
whats the next step here
im better at coming up with my own moves
but I have no sense of direction
only the ones I see others go in
my goals have no cement mixed in them
they arent tangible, they dont stay on the ground
trains of thoughts rush past me
some are tired and rusty
their tracks go to dark places
some are full of hope
with no real destination
but the trick is
to train these trains to believe in me.