Choices

I listened to words spoken 
that somehow found their way
to the back of my mind,
jumbled together and tossed to the far side
next to a forgotten side track 
of another way out, if I needed to leave.
Seems like my life somehow has been structured around
that recurring non- option
for more years than I care to conclude
at this juncture.
At this fork in the proverbial road.
At this stick in the sand
Flowing smoothly like glass on the water's edge
sticks don't smooth,
and water isn't glass.

What do I know, at the end of the day
The reflection of an illusion is the illusion of gain
or could it be nothing more than wistful imaginings
on an island, somewhere in the blue dot of the Pacific.

Walking around catching cornflakes
sitting where the sun calls
munching on fortitude,
as dreams fly by...