In the scatter of fleeting moments,
where thoughts lean like sunflowers,
they drift their scent in the breeze
carrying with them slivered visions.
Adjusting to the light,
bending toward clarity—
steel-hooded dreams,
forged in the fires of youth.
The after-sweat of existence lingers,
glistening on the surface of reality.
Questions pool like dew on metal,
each droplet a possibility, a pondered future.
In the quiet woods of introspection,
we find the echoes of what could have been.
A legacy in each soliloquy,
of the journeys taken, the paths crossed.
Not meant for casual talks in cafes,
nor the noise of polarized voices.
But for the raw, unfiltered footage of life,
and pictures that capture a trajectory, a purpose.
What becomes of these moments,
when morning’s light brings new revelations,
and yesterday’s plans dissolve like sugar in coffee?
The anticipation of rum-soaked evenings, lost to the sands of time.
In the suburbs, news heralds the day,
a backdrop for our rehearsed consciousness.
Where memories of childhood years,
landscape the stories we carry within.