Eighteen

A finished product

on paper

wanting immediate recognition

in reality

asking only for keys

to sanity

wonders abound ahead

new quests.

Each moment of passage

now today seems clouded

when yesterday,

the avenues were clear,

I could find you

around every corner

without stumbling forward

into a pedestrian maze.

That symbolism

speaks to tomorrow

suddenly arrived this morning,

when alone I wanted to cry,

no longer able to rely

upon simple childhood.

Tonight I began slowly

to wish for tomorrow

with all of the rewards,

to be a gentle breeze,

one I might navigate through,

challenged by the next mile.

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