The Echelons

As I get older I see the dreams

that soared through clouds of mind

the daily hopes

turn into a lemon's tart

that no amount of mental sugar

can sweeten

These moments aren't bitter

just soured at the edges

I see no chance to celebrate

with my own days of dance

My freedom to look up

and sense the sun of my life

has been submerged in the dark

of another's closing door

While I continue to be

the light along that edge of darkness

I dim into a visual whisper

These bandages of buffoonery

surround me in a binding

that is no longer loose

over old wounds and sores

the smiles and jokes that hide

the sour and sorrow

It is as if I see a hierarchy

of self-inflicted pain

the echelons of failure

Copyright © 2012 by Barry G. Wick