She said we arrived too late to try.
Roads have been lined,
their pavement engrained into pictures.
All seas are seen,
the sights have been discovered,
each isle dotted in history.
Wires describe all that was once secluded in far corners,
now adorning every page in a swift stroke.
Flags drilled into the lunar realm.
Aspirations climb to broader heights.
Down without the hope or the green to realize,
the closest to the moon our bodies reach is a fire escape.
To navigate feeble desires rests deep in my bleakness,
hardened by replaying choreography where I sit by the curb,
and quick strikes from marching boots embrace.
Muffled by the debris of demolished imagination,
I see mobile futures beckoning,
be them illusory or potential reality.
Traced across the globe,
voyages marked empires,
crossing waves and continents,
not a stone unturned.
Mapped out so thoroughly do you now see,
yet the illusive dream is untested by conquerors.
No domain has planted itself in consciousness.
Roving eyes defined that which stands before us,
but we ourselves have yet to feel it.
Mountains and canyons are a finger’s reach away,
but we have yet to understand their meaning.
Too late are we now to lay claim to names.
Take a dare on psychology’s shortcomings,
venture boldly into the unknown that’s already known,
though open to the terminology applied through memory.
Tucked in a grove of trees,
a rising hill has always been present.
Upon it as we could be,
dragging an idea into practice,
we create new meaning in old places.
Pestered by lingering ghosts,
allow a dare to flourish.
I can create new meaning
if you let me hold your hand.
( ❤ Mitch)