Wander Away At 60

I wonder sometimes,

the rains outside no different than they ever can be,

paint the ground with symbolic elements

of nature,

if we could all just walk away

hang out in the woods,

stay alone away from carrying on

misinterpretations of what it is we might

have once realized and then,

well the time,

watch on a wrist

following every second,

the minutes go by until the hours

days and weeks, the months,

now years,

still standing here, frozen in the moment,

decades of speculation

without ever really understanding why,

just why, why, what is the why

that keeps me wandering always wishing,

only realizing after the rains have gone away,

the ground is dry without that fresh cleansing air,

the sort you might feel when letting the floodgates

step outside of our own control,

wander away now,

keep going for there isn’t a lot of recall,

once the bricks have been laid,

their heavy landscape a constant reminder,

something the water cannot truly

wash away.


© Thom Amundsen 4/2021

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