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...