Poetry Journal Jan. 14, 2024
(This is another contemporary poetry journal entry. I have a few of them over the last couple of months. I figure I’ll get some of these out of the way before I plunge back into 2013 entries, not to mention the remaining entries from those troublesome times during the summer of 2012.)
January 1, 2024
It is not stardust that gets in our eyes all these years later, but grains of sand, the hour glass, broken, the storm slowly fading away, not yet letting us see a clear view of the past, yet not so blinded as we once were, more a dreamscape of what we once thought as possible, lost in a rage of wind, so we are left with the remnants of the dream, shredded rays still clinging to us after we trudged so far and for so long with the rage of sand set against us, able by luck or fate to have avoided the pitfalls and quicksand we once believes would consume us.
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