the sacred soil of childhood
has been turned undone;
rendered to the dictates of
a new corner stone.
Too soon, too soon the candles
burn at twenty-one
and in the flame licked shadows

there stands a hunch bone
directional sign too very grown
like a question mark.
I stand alone

to ponder on
all of the roads that
I did and did not take
be they as they may they will
neither trade nor break
and though I might wish it changed

I am what I’ve done
and stand thus against time ‘till
time takes the last fight
The days or the well
ordered anarchy are gone.

Ian David Arlett