Future, and the great What-if

By Abigail lee

A gauzy haze to my left follows,

Its darkness cloaking me in dread

As I navigate the walkway of

Hours and minutes.

An orchestrated picture of my past

Bleeds into the road ahead,

Panels of haphazard inaccuracy

Choking the truth of my memories.

A smile plays on my lips, the caricature

of a poorly designed timeline

mocking my every step.

Stride to stride, it fails to reach me.

Hissing down cobblestone pathways,

I’m a prize to capture, the elusive

Beast it claims I am. Like clockwork,

Again and again, it reaches –

But it’s touch is cold and vapid

against my warmth.

Keep running, I tell it

Knowing it’ll never catch me.