Times gone by

Sites unfair, unseen; waters too deep, unclean. My view is skewed by night, by trembling stares at stars and vocal hopes for a rainy day to make sense of staying put. My past fades, my useful past forgotten and present plans to do some good are drawn by ink (invisible), designs (petty), arrogant guilt and wine. i write as quiet as i can lest loss makes a smudge on the page. I gather like mice to cheese traps, fish to hook straps, I ramble like rivers run wild. If patience wears, i hide and wait for a tap turned on, a song to start, a baby's cry, the smell of life anew and there i sit on the leisure lap, so grim, so firm, so blue. I turn my back on shifting sand to see the future's plan lest photographs show a soulless soul and a soiled dream come true. I think of this; of times gone by and today's small contributions.