the mythology fades into stories, leaving icons of the passed
we forget the past at our peril, but still worse is to live in it
the plastic monkey tail curled for easy hanging screeches in silence
the farther we are away from the source, the more the shadow is blurred
when content to dream rather than do, we open doors within ourselves
a positive word always travels quietly in ways we don’t know
what we’ve forgotten can still come back and haunt us as lost memories
there’s always a route around the barriers that pop up in our path
without exploring we never truly achieve a true sense of home
the unusual if it’s seen often enough will become normal
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