TOMORROW'S COLORS

some of us gotta write the crap;

paint over it, making it somewhat

presentable for the greater good.

everything looks better with

good coat of new exotic paint.

will paint myself tomorrow;

go out in public and impress folks.

now, to choose an impressive color.

there was a time accolades 

were eagerly sought after.

now, accolades cost more than

and good accolade was ever worth.

becoming completely unhinged

for no apparent reason other

than try something new.

a bit perplexing, yes, and

precautionary measures required;

not to become forever lost,

never able to return to a 

somewhat sane, normal world
in otherwise crazy scheme of things.

Brad Meltzer-The Fifth Assassin

in one's so called "golden years,"

so little remains to amuse one's self.

and boredom is not a friend,

and easily becomes a killjoy.

one's usefulness has waned. 

feelings of ineptness, incompleteness.

many suffer this, seeking relief in drugs,

only to further complicate problems

with yet another string of new problems;

falling into a dark deep abyss.

and many never recover from this.

sad footnote to troubled lives. 

stories no one knows

are probably the best stories

because no one knows,

and most likely never will.

get these peculiar notions:
pondering why snow is cold.
how I got so damned old.

nothing wrong with old,
as long as one is not
young when one is old.

this screws up the works, horribly.
gateways under glass dome
in seamless entry to behold.