potential

the sums of so many thoughts

of words and whimsy

the small cubby in the bed my resting place

fan blowing the frigid wind,

so much wasted potential, so many fluid forgotten phrases, a life unlived, a song unsung

dreaming of another place, where fear and foreboding didn’t win the day, where words spoken, thoughts given, were reciprocated and reinforced

a return to less trivial concerns, carpet burns, careless giggles and odes of eternal love were allowed, acknowledged and accepted

honest hymnals and earnest oaths

not just so much empty prattle

the constant companionship and incorruptible comeuppance of youth and tears like razors of solace

alone on an iceberg, floating down a familiar stream of consciousness, shivering from foul wind and biting words

potential

disregarded dandelion fluff in the semirecognizable remnants of days gone by

lemonade and gazebos, laughter, longing, and lingering concussions

swingsets, sunsets, and serenades

wispy scents of campfires and bloody little scabs, bruised hearts and broken promises

a denim jacket on fire

seared flesh on the red hot muffler

friendship sunken like a paper boat

gone

a dream, a myth, a whisper

an old man whistling softly in a comfy chair on a wooden porch

potential

in texas summer begins in late april, by the time the solstice rolls around the heat has already taken its toll

the extra hours of pummeling heat drag the gumption from the burning souls on the sidewalk

but the fire of youth always burns brighter, and we would stoke those flames into an inferno

dreaming of finding the lost secrets, rekindling that youth, instead of active participant, now sore in the bleachers cheering them on

wondering where it all went wrong

but standing in front of the mirror and seeing the culprit, the vagrant wastrel, the vandal that graffitied the pristine train car

the lack of vigilance

and loss of verve

longing for passion again

stolen kisses under the stars

feeling like i belong

anywhere

wasted potential, wasted youth, wasted words, wasted truth