mending the tear -
bridging the gaping abyss -
putting together what’s been
pulled apart -
the ripping sound
some kind of music -
emancipation of dissonance -
the tear itself
turning into a spiral -
perhaps the beginning
of a wing -
or the tip of
continent hope.
dusty memories,
newspaper clippings,
old photographs,
blurred figures in grey -
crooked smiles,
torn pages like uprooted trees,
stories from somebody’s life (whose?) -
bare threads of meaning;
dreams are spiderwebs
for catching juicy regrets…
i remember
the soft cheek of a sadness
yet untouched by the frost:
tender, fragrant rose petals
poems not yet written
innocence not yet lost…
everything changes
and nothing changes
winds shake the pillars of ages
seas disappear in the belly of time
receding into the dim light of forever
or waiting for another cycle
I’ve gone through life
untethered
unconnected
to the cheering crowds
hungry for my stories;
I wasn’t even aware that
I was the chosen one
or that my choices were,
in reality, someone else’s;
I often thought it was just a dream
or that I was a jester, a liar,
a shameless entertainer
posing as a philosopher
It takes someone coming back
from the dead to show you
that you’ve never figured out
how to live