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Past the veil are shadows known,
Alive despite intention.
Without denial they exist,
Beyond mere recognition.
Yet these dark imprints signal not,
Sometimes darkness is the impetus,
Of serene nostalgic silence.
And while discerning which of these,
Awaits us at the thought,
We may find solace knowing that,
Villains tarry not,
In queries of the should-haves,
Or repentant genuflect,
Our heart exposed, amidst our woes,
A longing to be blessed.
Oh the road familiar known,
I glance in recollection.
A wanderer strides alone,
Intent in his reflection.
I ask in haste, “Are you the one?”
He nods in affirmation.
My shoulders sink in bitter relief,
At odds with each sensation.
“Oh the road familiar known.”
I cry to my companion.
With half a smile, he nods again,
Suggesting his compassion.
I wait with longing for a word,
Some response to trepidation,
He simply stands in front of me,
Not changing his expression.
“What will you?” I ask, with irritation,
To break his piercing gaze,
“Let go,” he says with forlorn caution,
Then points the opposite way.
“But, oh the road familiar known,”
I cry again in earnest.
“Tis the past, the seeds are sown,
Before you lies your interests.
For if you tarry any longer,
You will not be fit to see,
The difference between what’s behind you,
And what you’re meant to seek.”
“But oh, the road familiar known.”
I meekly say in sorrow.
He shakes his head and turns away,
Heading for the morrow.
I’m left alone, now knowing truth,
Confined and pertinacious,
Hoping for some validation,
So vainly efficacious.
Stillness, silence, a somber gaze,
Three strands in one accord,
In reflection of the adored.
And when said tenant afforded this state,
Arrives upon our visage,
Ne’er mockery should any relate,
Nor their image should we pillage.
For in but moments shall we be,
Candidates in succession,
By circumstance quite affected,
Thus instigating our reflection.
Let us not have one day pass,
Where such moments are ignored,
Sentiment is built to last,
And weather all the storms.
If we abandon introspection,
No solace shall there be,
No foundation will exist,
To enjoy the memories.
Ascending from the cave,
I spy a shadow of former self.
A marionette without a sound,
Of hope and peace bereft.
And thus begins the shadow’s rise,
Engulfing my firm-footed base.
“Do not look back”, my sullen heart cries,
“And be doomed a pillar of waste.”
And so I shut my eyes,
Letting memory thus replace,
And dare not to dwell upon the past,
That these encounters be met with haste.
But I did see one thing I cannot put away,
A chip upon my shoulder,
That I noticed still remains.
It seems beyond position,
Or stature socially,
I have always felt subject,
And hindered by frailty.
In youth, I feared authority
As authority, I was intense,
As employee, I feared the manager
As manager, I feared impotence.
And thus the cycle continues,
I am constantly afraid.
Over, under, forward, behind,
Unsettled and dismayed.
I must attempt to break,
And shatter this illusion,
That my circumstances decide,
My attitude, is a delusion.