Departed

The weeks are passing by

So quickly these days.

While each hour ticks by to a grandfather clock "tock,"

Like clockwork, I dream through all my days.

And when I wake up from fantasies

It's time to sleep again.

I wish to birth these thoughts from my brain-

To watch them grow old fine like wine.

Instead, I'm vying to be bottled without a label.

And like an absent moon hiding from the rays,

I've been departed as of late.

As Time ever flows yet ever goes,

I can't remember what it tastes like

To carelessly waste it.

As I watch every second of distilled thought

Drip away into an action-less mist,

I think, “Is living for the ego all that there is-

A wanting to be witnessed to undoubtedly prove,

That none of this human experience was fake?”

From fears of becoming a silent fallen tree,

I formed the most unforgettable identity,

Like a character in a story clinging to

A gifted bottle of my go-to Pinot Gris,

Because it reminded them of my name,

Or a newborn baby bearing my face.

I can't help but think about,

In these departed days,

What if we told each other,

Or even ourselves,

That we should never stay the same?

I want to transform with each novel flavor combination-

Create art from the rare pigmentation of my brain.

Romanticize myself without a perfect portrait

Grow in and out of these tangled neuro pathways,

And become my own flavor of fermented grapes

dependent on the weather for their taste,

Thriving in warm summers

or even crisp winter rains.