Stream of Consciousness

glory days behind us,

we drink up summer

with lungfuls of air,

embracing our lives

but then there are days

where we sit, huddled,

winter bearing down

and making us weak

foretelling the future

seems like a blessing

to ones who can’t foresee

what their “tomorrow” holds

we want to know more—

be more, have more—

but we’re just humans

who age out of life itself

“live it up,” monikers say,

but we’re also fearful

of what will be said

how, when, where

we’re afraid of shadows

that always mock us

from the ground up,

dark silhouettes smiling

when we say we believe,

what do we really mean,

and who’s going to tell us

whether we’re right or wrong?