It was always an option;
the chance of escape from the everyday,
the routine, the mundane.
An epiphany of wanderlust and
the ideals of those post-grad, 20-somethings
still clinging to their
divinely endowed potential.
The lie of being content now revealed;
that surrogate stories were all the travel necessary
was a fool’s fantasy;
that imagination and
the ability to translate the stories of others,
manifest their magnificence,
Things lost that were never owned,
ideals implanted from media and music.
The cowl of adulthood lies heavy with
the knowledge that the
past has passed and
there is no going back.
We fall, warriors cut apart by
time’s rusty blade, learning nothing;
faux-philosophers who cling to clichés and
parrot the same concerns that add
not wisdom, but
by Erik Shinker