Harvest

Ghastly images between

reality and vision.

One potential world pristine

never came to fruition.

The one just out of reach, though,

is always the most charming.

To thoughts, my bothers I owe.

What could be, I'm farming.

All the friends I never met,

Relationships that dropped dead,

Towns that I'll never forget,

Graduations never read.

Surrender from its' strong grips

Or nostalgia never quits.