I look ahead and it’s all haze and fog.
I look behind and it feels safe and true
Each step ahead feels like I’m in a bog.
Each step behind as snug as an old shoe.
I dream of all the mountains I can climb.
I wake up with a rock inside my gut.
No matter what I do, it’s the wrong time.
Yesterday tugs my leash like I’m its mutt.
But it’s my forward motion that is yanking
The rope around my neck that’s choking me.
So I can stand here, stationary--banking
On Time to cut the cord eventually--
Or reach out for tomorrow’s golden knife
And cut myself free from my former life.
Copyrght 2017 Matthew J Wells