There is often a tendency to fog the mind
Worse yet, feigning clarity the entire time
The moment comes when the fog it lifts
And lost time evaporates like Avalon mist.
The beauty in that, is when the insight hits you
Your cares diminish and you wear what fits you
No longer worried about what has been done
The focus becomes the Earth you stand upon.
Preference, proclivities, interests and love
Become actualities, not dreams stored above
Your skin holds you present, you understand fate
Can knock on your door on any given day.
With time less available possibilities seem clear
Not hindered by delays, or a doubter’s glare
The wrinkles diminish, the fabric’s laid out
Your mural is woven with life-affirming vows.
The threads, some are thicker and others don’t hold
Those with resilience are the ones to behold
The friends, fertility, the sustenance, the rations
Those textures you’ve offered in a life you’ve imagined.
Whether here for the duration or just one more day
The fog can be lifted in a myriad of ways
I’m guessing that most involve love in some fashion
And probably uncovering some long hidden passion.
Time is the question, creativity the solution
What inspires bliss and sidesteps retribution?
I shift my perspective as my time here wanes
And hope when breath fades that beauty remains.
From the archives, Tricia Schwaba, 2014
