The sticky syrup juices of our dreams swept down the naked mountaintop plateaus
that ribbed against the sky as though someone had nibbled the tips of candy corn
and set them out to dry against the sun.
What a time it was —
sweet, heavy, where we oh so stoically marched our forward paths towards death
while the memories alone remained,
unfailing to produce a shiver,
and sometimes on the rarest of occasions,
But through it all ran the single vein of throat cut emotion
that binds us all together as one humanity —
fear of the unknown.
What is to come and what is to be,
what is to stay and what gets lost in the infinite sands of history?
We occupied ourselves so fully and completely
with pushing any thought of this impending eternal out of our minds,
that in the midst of running away we somehow found ourselves
learning how to live.
What it meant to touch but not hold,
what it meant to offer a hint of love.
A hint of the oceans of compassion that roiled through us
but remained buried under layers of permafrost,
cool and collected.
Maybe someday the warmth of our travels,
the weather beating down upon our souls,
would thaw that icy cap enough to let slip one iota
of the ethereal substance beneath,
but for today that possibility seemed so remote,
that to even discuss it out loud felt blasphemy.
And this is the moment when,
while chasing those sweet dreams down a loose terrain of trouble,
our young past and our impending futures somehow collided,
and coalesced for a few —
a precious handful,
of here, and now.