New year spins
again.
Forgotten webs
of promises
dust the corners
and the high places
making old
a vision of once
all the promise
replaced by silence
in a lonely tomb.

Illusions of safety
of forever, spin
again.
The vastness of
distraction
left open like a wound
outpours with vaguery
at the sight
of a face,
or the smell
of the stale air
that has become
my mind.

Evasively,
the question asks itself
and the fear
triggers response
obscurring, no
avoiding
the answer.
Without waking
without sleep
I race to a conclusion
often made before.

Together,
was the way.
Then near.
Then in thought.
In respect
of a naiive expectation,
a memory
made old
by the spinning skies
and the remembrance
of broken promises
long buried by time.

Randy Edward Nicholas

@redwardnicholas

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