Old constants have shifted out of sight, as if a fog had rolled in and now the sun is hastening it’s retreat The old markers the strong and trusty pylons have vanished and the minds eye has filled their lack with ghosts Ghosts of ghosts who use to be our favorite past time to recall… Sitting in awe of their disappearance, the old feeling of being the glue, the force that kept the peaces in place Has given up… All of the needy feelings to keep the security of acceptance tightly woven together Has begun to unravel… Those trusty pillars have given way to bollards, new and polished offering no history No scars of history, of comforting permanence, they fade and pass of their own accord The temptation to become the glue once again is not as it was… The force behind the need is now the wind Shifting and dieing off to little more than a ghost of it’s own… Even the distant white cliffs have changed, they too have faded, been drawn in to the fog It’s icy vale thickening with each lapping wave, each remembrance of their strength and beauty… This is a time of lonely discovery, loneliness that fills it self with adventure instead of the temptation to return Filling up voids and cups and barrels with wide eyed wonderment and something called confidence These vessels would not exist with out the support, with out those old needs being propped up Or would they?