The future self remains a dream,
An image of the mind,
A conscious scattering of musing trends,
That the years have lined,
Wrinkles from a face,
Whose hope once was enshrined.
Old thoughts are pyramids, once a flash scene,
Now noticeable but worn in a sandy row.
I explore again, for the splendid view,
Stony thoughts remain, oh, so long ago.
The builder left and the stream ran dry,
No movement here for no ideas flow.
Once the pride of some ancient plan,
Built with a careful spec,
Ground to heavens were filled,
With the old-time tech,
Now passed and over in this desert scene,
With a ghost of pharaoh’s elect.
Be calm my soul, this ancient sight,
Stands as a monument’s game plan.
Immense the gesture and intent,
For the tribe where it began,
Their journey home, as the assurance,
To inherit the visionary promise land.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.