Wilting Roses By The Fireside

 

Wilting roses by the fireside
Coffee warming bones chilled from the boat
Drifting thoughts to stagnant memories
Thawing words from poems you never wrote

Chasing Time Down A Rabbit’s Hole

Chasing time down a rabbit’s hole

Knowing there’s no way to go on back

Don’t look that way, it’s a mirage

Ghosts aren’t known to be tracked

But we seldom heed our own advice

Reason vanished into our past decisions

Demons try to cling, but they don’t exist

For these antiquated memories are mere apparitions