Replacement Therapy

I used to stare at the wall

the smooth texture

the almost perfect drywall matte finish vision

look for the shadows and the light

headlights illuminate cool air in the leaves,

I trace the future, cherish the past, and explore

Now it’s glass. Sterile, and bright, stark white

Or shiny, sensitive, dark mode

Filtered vision, artificial discovery

The future is pushed up or dragged down

But as much as I see, I see nothing...

No soft rolling curtains, or full moonlight

No remembering to try to be a better person, or to honor your loved ones who've passed

No prayers for our troubled planet.

It’s just a polluted stream, that feeds you the appropriate dose of almost the answer.

But there are no answers, there’s only hope.

Dream on. Write on.

Friday's Poem