Wishes

Wishes

We spout them constantly,
never ceasing long enough
to wonder what we're doing
really means,
that we simply put off
what we could do tomorrow
with promises to ourselves,
words of comfort and certainty
that vows for changes
of the now that is always the future
and never the here and now.
And what do they mean in the end?
Do they count for anything
besides a tally of the foolish wants
we have from day to day,
coming and going
faster than a train
through a subway station.
If only these hopes
meant something more...

But alas,
wishes, like words,
are simply wind
slithering from our lips,
creatures of our creation,
writhing in the air for a moment
only to disappear in an instant
the moment a gust passes through,
ripping the life from our mouths,
leaving cuts to adorn our faces,
reminding us of our brief trifles
before they heal,
fading from memory.
It is actions that are recalled
years later,
actions that make the words
worth what they say,
actions that separate
the truths from the falsehoods.

And it's about damn time I take action
instead of moping in what I wish was
and not what can be.
I just need to get up
out of this puddle of self pity
and press forward
with every ounce of strength.
Just promise to catch me if I fall again,
because next time I crash to the ground,
I fear my back might break,
leaving me stranded
on the cold and bitter ground
to drink from the dirty puddles
of the lies and hurts
I tell myself
when lying with the past
instead of looking up
at the present
with a goofy grin spread
across my face,
readying me for anything
the world might throw at me.