Murky Twilight Garden Paths

Fire pits, fire flies, and gardens of dismay are my topics tonight.
I see through murky eyes,
The light and haze of my distant, candle lit cabin and a sideways smile beckoning me home.

Thru the garden rows I walk,
I ignore the darkness around.
I see only future crops of love, destiny, and stains made by pen and ink through kudzu vines creeping toward me.

New strangers that somehow tonight seem old.
Deja vu takes hold and I attempt to stay the course.
The rivers I cross daily, and the rapids yet to conquer, are memories from simpler days.
Summer is always on my mind.
Wild summers.
Crazy summers.
Copasetic summers.
Summer Possibilities that I continually dismiss in me.

I sit here thinking.
What is that noise I hear?
A summer cricket or Locust shimmering for life?
Or, possibly a whisper of a lover in my ear.
I disregard both, and keep digging the ditch I live in.

Repetition exists in every breath I take.
My set path has been uprooted and I continually re plant the bastard roots with an aggressive tone.

To pick and remove what I hate to see is a constant tragedy in my life. Weeds, worries, and questions of why I exist plague my existence.
here is an answer at eye level once you bend and creep along the garden path.
I dismiss this simple wisdom, that the Weeds in my garden are the greatest pieces of me.

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