Opening Time

Seasons fall down into grains of sand,
worn away by the wind and rain
as this cozy little world speeds around
like a mere cosmic fly.
Only yesterday, were I not sitting at
that miniscule desk underneath
which, I remember, my long legs
would not fit, learning of quantum
wonders and reading of Hamlet,
or was it Othello, or perhaps King Lear...
Never did I realize how precious that
time was, how warm it now seems in my mind;
even though it is probably nothing
like the reality of the past.

I still remember how I looked up to my
future, how I wanted to be this or that,
exotic by night, flamboyant by day,
how empty resolutions crumbled into
irrelevance as I realized their childishness.
I was so enraged when treated as young,
prizing every year, counting every month
until that legendary year when I could
go my own way and see my dreams
fulfilled. Dreams of making it rich
and buying happiness in money's
happy way.

Only a year I've lived outside the shell
of dependence, and my daily excercises
haven't ceased: I work, I eat, I sleep.
The dreams live on as strong as ever,
wealth becons like a decision I
left behind and remember with
deep regret.