Wednesday, April 22, 2015


Strange how time travels
Away from the moment
Leaving behind memories
Rich and poor.

Like a broken cup
Shattered by a fall
Accidentally moved
Off the table’s edge.
Now shards surround;
Pieces. If all placed
Neatly together would
Make the cup, But no.

Like the writing hand
Having writ moves on
The delicate impertinent ink
Marring the parchment
Filling the shallow valleys
And riding the rough ridges
Forever in the life
Of that pulp, ingrained
With memories on its surface
Dissolve to the first rain drop.

Memories too of childhood
Ghostly beings in ether's dance
Moving further and further
Away from then
Stretching back into oblivion.

Echoes of tortured minds
Leaning this way and that
Filling the space
With colors and black.
You cannot pluck the petal
From the rose, yet still
Smell the sweet smell
And only imagine
What was,
When it was.

The minute hand
Pulls the hour hand
Only one way.

Ah time your arrow
Has, but one direction
Yet you curve under gravity
And might bend to meet the edges
To make travel through moments
Possible. Even if for a fraction
Of a second. Like the crackle
Of lightening expanding
Space and registering time
With the sound of fury
And like that moment
Gone. Lost to oblivion
Within ghostly memories
Haunted by time.

No comments:

Post a Comment