I thought I knew change,
I thought I knew it well.
I’d welcome it like an old friend,
like a hermit greets it’s shell.
But now change itself has changed,
and left me in a whirl.
Who are you, where did you come from,
and why aren’t I on top of the world?
I used to own my life,
with my head held high.
Not a care in the world,
and my friends by my side.
But now we’ve fallen off,
pushed down separate sides of the rock.
I try not to worry,
for we’ll meet again on top.
A metal box welded shut,
Emotions compacted, silent rutt.
Try and crack me, I’m no nut.
A metal box welded shut.
Patch by patch, we search for more,
Through wildflowers and weeds, craving an answer.
Back and forth, over and under; our curious eyes gaze in wonder.
Is this prairie our conclusion, or is spring returning once more?
The foggy discovery is deemed short-lived; flawed and open-ended.
The poppies have wilted, all flora found lifeless. Closure: an illusion.