Drink it down
breathe it in
that succor laced with poison

turn thoughts to distractions
swallow those minutes, hours, days, years
with familiar stupor

fill those aching cracks with numbness
fill the soul with pre-digested putty

work those rote tasks
trudge that treadmill
with closed eyes
and dead intent

choke down those years
blood through the hourglass

until the hospital bed
mind grasping through encroaching emptiness
fearing those derailed ambitions of youth
all of those lost minutes
and what could have been

Lotus Dreams (a poem)
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