Under the eye of consciousness 

I look inward again, grieving to see 

Blind spots casting shadows 

Across the sentient walls

Each outline reflects darkness

Deeply opaque and so unexplored

With an absence of awareness 

Worthy of the surrounding glow 

I find myself losing the art of memory

In surveying this worn mental machinery 

Once grounding and oriented

To guide my mind on its journey through time

And I see the wheels of association

Have become glassy and worn  

From perseverating on what could have been

Confusing what was from what is now

Or might one day be