By John Patrick Robbins
You locked the world away, slowly allowing yourself to die.
I saw the man fade and my story continues much where yours did decline.
The hardest moment was knowing it was farewell we always yearn for what has already passed.
The laughs and the stories I now pass onto others.
We are but living libraries growing old with time.
Trying to recollect that which we can longer so easily recall.
Grasping onto the moments before death.
Fearing the unknown.
Flying high till we inevitably crash into the ground.
Playing roles to maintain an act while falling to pieces behind closed doors.
Dreaming of something and not fully understanding that which compels us to keep moving on.
We are like coins tossed into a fountain.
Wishes with good intention somehow getting lost in the dark waters below.
Life is never planned and art is never safe.
It’s last call so bring the lights up and empty the room.
As we chase dreams and one another on into the night.
Capture a glimmer of happiness, let the glow cast over us.
We are just coins cast with good intentions and even higher hopes.
Dreams remain people do not.
Enjoy them while you can.
John Patrick Robbins is the editor of the Rye Whiskey Review and Under The Bleachers. He is also the author of Once Upon A Nervous Breakdown from Soma Publishing and Sex Drugs & Poetry from Whiskey City Press. His work has been published in the San Pedro River Review, Ariel Chart, The Mojave River Review, Red Fez and elsewhere.