those receding lines of times past
stacked like cordwood memories to keep me warm
when cold forgetting sets in,
those distant dashes of future plans
to keep me focused on dreams tangible enough
to inspire forward movement.
breath exhaled with force and fire,
pushing myself, stronger with each passing moment,
climbing these mountains I’ve created,
an age-old habit, stale attempt at impediment,
a tired narrative of no too much I can’t.
The way tendrils, tiny and trifling
find their niche and not just survive
but thrive, grow mighty,
each day a chance to gain more,
to level up until they could tear down the walls
those same walls that spent so long
thinking they were in control.