October 8, 2015

Yellowing Pages

Sitting here writing
Wisps of image
Shrouded shadow
Of Imagined future
Passed before me
Danced like film
Across my vision

The cold
It touched my shoulder
The sounds
They faded away
Like yellowing pages
And I saw your face
As it could be

Your arm over
Around my shoulders
The whisper 
Of those words
The ones I love
To hear you say

Then it crumpled 
Like falling dough
The bread collapsed
And I was chewing 
On nothing
Poem 105 ~ 4/10/2013

     Memories, feelings, and thoughts diminish over time.  What once was often changes.  Sometimes, looking over older poems the emotions I wrote feel like a lie.  As the writer, I know what each poem was born through.  However, just because the adoration, pain, or perspective has passed as I've grown... that doesn't negate the validity of writing.  Every poem has helped me realize, handle, and come to grips with what I have felt.  At the moment of creation, each poem has filled it's purpose.  

     I have grown, I have changed.  I continue to feel, and I must accept the moving on that is life.  You cannot cling on to who you have been, or who you were.  Later it may feel like you chewed on nothing.  But at the time, that "nothing" felt like something.  Poetry is a way to express my now, and reflect on the past.  

     "I am a slave to emotion... Pens... Keep working... Until I need you no more... which will be when I stop feeling" 
                    Poem 106 ~ 4/11/13