Crossroads

A Poem by biblically

Changing seasons with changing times.

These roads have always been here. Wood to brick, brick to stone, changes with the coming times. Modernity but where did it come from? All of a sudden, walking along different paths that lead to the same destination,

Concrete that calls the same names of old lovers yet I do not recognize the sweetness.

Degeneration that rots the footprints left by accidental trips into sludgy serendipity.

Fall leaves like a snowboard, slipping to stick to well revered thrashes that lead down Brattle.

But why wait for confirmation when you can slide and snow during the heat of random events that are global catastrophes?

It’s so natural, the progression of time and the challenge of death. I truly stare her down and laugh at times. Not to reality, but to where her scythe can fall unexpectedly.

Where denial takes us, destinations etched into the linings of our silver toothed memories.

Where posterized characters, rust coated yet polished through, change without dedication. Dedication to the craft, to the work. Dedication to the art of trying, the infrastructure we built to stand on.

Dedication to the dusty boardwalk slats, dingy airport mirrors, dedication to the plainly designated, in organized chambers that play out the chorus I’ve always feared to dream.

So I follow the tracks left against our trees, reaching deeper into our woods to design it all again,

Laying it all out again, leaving the wrong shadow of myself in the passively dangerous solitary, understood by the silence that coats the blacktop landscape, freckled with flecks of inescapable ties lined in the astronomers' learned guidelines.