It's Fiction

White like smoke bleeds into the open air from dimly lit horizons bent on changing your mind toward something more anchored than I could ever be, something more engaging and easier to see. so quiet and calm in the sunlight on a sunday morning is all i expect from growing older and more content with having little of what i wanted and having little of what i have gained. i'll forfeit what i'd like to call to call my home and what little left that i own for a heartfelt apology or a heartfelt war. i guess it's better if you lead us away. stay and celebrate the new year. fall asleep with your conscience right and your eyes set forward. remember those late night stories and every wide-dream that left you singing "o captain, o captain; can i find my way through this night and am i welcome on my way back home?" it's more than shallow water. it's more than fertile land. i remember every miscalculation and every slight of hand. stay and celebrate the new year.