What had they become,

What had they become,

When it came time,

For the weighing

Up to begin?

Laid to waste,

Years fell by

And were left to rot,

In wayside heaps.

Landfill memories,

Abandoned journeys,

Mouldering

In search of themselves,

Crave a return,

To the dreaming.

When passion

Was beginning,

And time a redeeming

Concept,

With a consequence

Too far reaching,

For judging

The truth of the matter.

Until passage is restricted

And progress slowed,

By a narrowed path.

When teetering mountains

Of discarded baggage,

Still tied by a web

Of knotted thread,

Fall before us,

To block the way,

And erase,

The space behind.

With no choice to make,

But to find a seam,

A rod to guide us through,

A stream of gold

That flows beneath

A rhyme,

Of stories told,

To mark a way

Across the page

Of dreams,

And other days,

When the way ahead

Lies clear.

And journey’s end

Draws near.

Not by much,

But close enough,

To touch.