all the cards fanned out on the table
the curve of strength to his spine
the back is packed
these have no place today
in the weary gaze of the morning light
when a moment ago, the memory was real
As far back as I can remember, there has always been the promise of something great. A great accomplishment designed by me. The me who has talent and strength and all sorts of possibilities. The stories that are waiting to be written by these hands, the beauty that is to be shared with the world excreted from this soul, the tantalizing flavors that only I can produce which can explore the boundaries of your taste buds and quench your unappreciated thirst. The intentions are always there, ready to burst forth like an overripe, overplump berry...
The intentions are exacted through someone else's eyes.
You look at me and your imagination is stirred. Your breath is taken away at the possibilities, so numerous, so grand. My laughter in your ears solidifies the perceived dominance that I bear. In your eyes, I can accomplish things that you can only dream of.
My words take up that string of hope. I can design so much from this. A crocheted doily that can be placed on your table. To catch the drips of your water glass. And that's as far as it goes.
Because I am a cripple, held fast by the weight of your eyes. Your eyes too occupied to see that you are my crutch.
So we hobble along, the detritus we leave behind is to remember.
I don't blame your confusion when you look back. It was not supposed to smell this bad. We turn up our noses and take another step forward.
You look at me knowing that one day I can make something great out of this...