In the Now

I can't see me in the mirror,

only in pictures where the camera forces clarity.

The eyes of others can be so kind.

Stained in a rainbow of greys,

I no longer see in colour - just tones,

and flashes of light and dark.

You see, I never thought I would make it this far...

But life really does go on.

Not always a parade,

but more often a slog across higlands

and deep bogs.

Like Artax I flounder,

but have yet to go under.

The bridle bites tight enough to cut,

but is not really enough to hold.

What else is there to say?

The now is a pit with no ladder,

a maze with no center.

A junction I never planned to cross,

but I have books full of dreams...

And so it seems that I am never honest when I talk to my diary.