Things left on the étagère
That place things exist
Seeking meaning, some ultimate purpose
Reminding us who we were, could become
Some lingering ghosts in our heads
Haunting our sleep, yes nightmares
Keeping us awake–
In that place we can’t help but question

It’s ludicrous to think
Anything could be better than what is
Starting with a faint heartbeat–
That which keeps us in step
With something outlasting us all

Like some wild dog sled adventure
Way up North, across so many miles
Lifetimes, precious moments spent
Waiting, wondering, hopelessly living
Within predestined limits–
These times remain mere artifacts
Leftover promises waiting
For their time to come–
To find expression
Sun signs of what can’t help but be