solid ground now shaken loose,
with the cracks of age,
deep revelations suddenly awoken,
in a flash,
exploding outwards and up, up
away from the body of regret, a release, into nothingness.
In the mind, a tomb of spent dreams where shadows take form,
characters in a play,
What if, What for?
As the years ticked on, sipping down an ocean of drips, pushing down to another day,
Now the tide has gone away,
pulled by the setting reaper moon,
exposed skeletons of the possibility.
Delay, the fortune of youth,
Delay, the awakening in death.
– Julien J OReilly