Indifferent Human

I guard my little patch of life.
My friend, my lover, my siblings
My parents.
My home, my business, my cheque-book
Me.

Days filled with the superficial,
Petty loves, petty lies, petty losses,
Petty life.
Infinite minutiae imperfectly saturates
Time.

Am I
Relative, subjective, indefinable,
Goodness.
Or only
I Am

Light Drops

Clear daylight

Through an open window,

Fresh Breeze

In newly awake lungs

Waking optimism,

Insurmountable problems

Shrink overnight

Into laughably minor molehills

Breakfast with loved ones

Gleaming, robust life

Sparkles invitingly,

Teeming cells of innocent energy

Then, the late train

Jostling, angry, indifferent commuters

Diesel fumes and stale air

Uncomfortable doubt

Empty office coffeepots

Server down, staplers stolen

And suddenly, the Light

Drops.

Maybe

In every life there are roads un-taken
Wastelands of Maybe lives
Detritus left scattered in desolate landscapes
Ghosts of bonds snapped in half
Spirits of ideas, half formed, abandoned
Forgotten promises, blowing in wistful winds.

The path followed not always smooth
Travelers often turn to search behind
Remembering happiness carelessly discarded
Some try to return whence they came
But wagons, newly acquired, irrevocably attached
Makes the u-turn un-wieldy.

Regrets, when asked, are none
Only to the deepest self, in darkest hour
Are confessions of things wished un-done or done
Friends better kept, lovers better lost
Secrets never made, values never forgotten
Time spent, not wasted

And yet, still, today is made
The wastelands of tomorrow