Spitting Into The Wind

You skipped through this life;
(Left a bit early for my taste or mental health
wellness care in the aftermath has been lacking)
Like a kid playing hopscotch
Colored chalk; dust of Angels
Or double dutch jumping rope; sincopada
And as usual I’m distracted
Flipping a coin, making a wish
Heads tails, winners and losers
Hands of the clock never stop
I tend to look away, losing sight of the shadows
Perched in cobwebbed corners, sunlight is the enemy
A betrayal to those of us forever young
Honorary member of the Peter Pan Syndrome crew
I prefer Tinker Bell; unrequited affection and such
Yes, I will always love you especially on those
Rainy days when the sidewalks are coated oil slick
Surprise rainbow swirls
The reflection makes me weep
You pretend you can’t see me tossing stones
The Sound isn’t wide but it’s deep in the middle
That’s where I hide during “those” moments
High tide is a dream-scape of illusions and hope
My heart is wrapped in a thinly tissue’d angst; pacing helps
Woes me, Woman of the Page always spitting into the wind
I grow weary of my widows garb,
Admittedly my fear keeps me in black

©2019 TrilbyYates