Flipping back through pages of my life
To reminisce over the events from which I’m forged
I fill with bittersweet melancholy.. .
For a familiar yet distant place.
Cradled in recollecting hands
A compendium of still flowing tear-laced memories,
distant sounds of laughter
the warmth of gentle smiles.
In such lightness I wonder
What’s become of my days
And the fleeting moments
which moved the hands of time..
What purpose have I fulfilled
Through the lives I have touched?
Other times my strength withers
Under the dense weight of my anthology.
I toil with the content of lessons,
though at times daunting and unbearable.
The pages of our lives can turn like lead
And we struggle through the stories told
Rather than the scripts of pages to come.
The once molten lava of catastrophe and coincidence;
Have solidified into obsidian
with serrated edges and conchoidal fractures.
Page by page, we climb over them,
under them, through them…
Page by page they tear at our flesh
But the story remains the same
With the ballast of the past tied to our feet
We swim to shore,
Sinking more deeply the closer we get.
Before drowning below of the surface
Of that last page of darkness,
Let it burn, let all those pages
Burn and be blown on by
Wind swept ashes of the past.