Between the Now and the Then

I am no longer that one, but not ready to be the next one

By Brian Colston on iStock (image licensed by author)

I dance between the now and the then,
a man of the flesh, my bones worn,
hair the color of an old goat, the skin
of a parched desert stream, the last
of my years thundering down upon me
from the high mountains, time around
me disappearing as they near…

But I am also touches of longing
for all I have lost, lingering lust
for the shape of a woman, my soul
hammered into rust by my failures,
but still, a soul of maybe tomorrow
I try again, and the endlessly rewinding
visions of what was, fleeting fantasies
about what should never be, ambitions
of a man who is here, but not anchored
by the reality of his own aging body.

What was will never be again for me.
What is… I struggle to remember the man
once me, who remained a child long after
he should have become a man.

What will be, I leave to the God
of lost children, feeble dogs, hopeless
winos and old idiots who dance in
the in between, where the body dies,
but the mind clings to the fading scent
of a life loved, a life withering
in the winter sun, waiting for a spring
which will never come.