no direction

justam

Those days of being intoxicated from the mere fumes of great hope
I remember them
those days seem like distant friends
so far off that the houses look eraser-tip size
transformed or crushed like copper zoo coins
molded new, into something less valuable and fleeting
those days seem so far away
like a line of cars stretching out to the edge of the horizon
with edges implied and
colors merely suggestions and questions
I lived in those seats as they drove past
opened the windows and felt fine
but somehow I'm now just the hanging leaf
caught on a twisted branch until blown down
to then be a silent companion to an old brown lunch bag that
travels in whatever direction the wind carries it
maybe the aimlessness can be called freedom?

mysticweed

awesome

can aimlessness be called freedom?
absolutely

justam

Thanks mystic weed. (: