vagabond selves.

left behind, moulting, shedding the many selves eroding fast,

wading through murky waters, cleansing the detritus of yesteryears past,

to tend the wounds of today, stinging at the edges, baring scars that for eons last.

knee deep in the choices we have made, bogged down in the quicksand of our banal days,

looking back at moments lost, caged within straightjackets of the now, wishing at times we had chosen different ways,

there is no going back, there is only the now and tomorrows yet to unfurl, feelings fleeting, grasping hope that never stays.

where do we keep our vagabond selves, attempting honest introspection as memory into the past delves,

forever settling inert, on dusty books never read, as our fingers trace paths, along neglected bookshelves.