Wednesday, July 20, 2016

The Past

Now on to scores of other things where our parting reverberates for generations. It was not predetermined; the dice cast down all thoughts of conjecture as we wallowed in pointless dispersal. Where is my heart? Here I have found traces--veins of gold in the periphery. An interior lost, now reconfigured. Beliefs about self dashed against the concrete of what once was. While time cannot be recaptured, a sense of being resurrects itself, hovering in the heat of day. It is good to know what was lost. Gaining a piece of one’s humanity always has benefits. On the thin ice of my life, I have skated to another shore.

Thinking now of Antwerp, its port calling my watery intentions. A sea captain, great ships, lost rough ages that spew over the coast. Bottomless is the narrative. It skips across timelines and to-do lists. In every relegation there is a truth, in every lie there is hope. Those who blame, or do not let go of a perceived event, tumble relentlessly in the maze of unforgiveness. Your face is locked by resentful memories that have little basis in the screen play. We cry in the night over illusions, missing the sparklings  that were at hand. Push, you said, drive off to the unknown. Your lack of enthusiasm sprinkled over choreographed lawns in the land of make it up as you go.

All that can be remembered, that which has worth, is your head against my chest; your breath in my ear. Closeness has no words or repercussions. It is as it should be, the sweet petal on the vine between the fence and a daydream. I have seen things that I do not care to recall, have lost moments that cannot be recaptured. Orion lurks overhead as the mists of the bayou dapple against a worn out journal. There is magic in the air in those places time has forgot; where the bustle of the paycheck is lost in meandering. Granted, one must overlook incestuous tendencies of the pockets beyond the herd but a life of leisure has too many bonuses to overlook. My hand trembles on your thigh. Pain disappears in your touch. What has never happened can be summoned on the stones of eternity. Hear me now, my voice never squashed, my spirit never liquidated in your fire sale. 

Ignition is the key to all dreams. We gather what we can on the banks of derision. Who you have become was not lost as the decades fathomed past the house on the long road, the forest with the long leaves, the mind of lost hope. We come to this place to make peace. If you disown or tarnish it, the spell is broken and you grow old. If belief matters, then kindness is content. Rest assured that progress never falters, or is very important in the end. Time sets down the altered path as we move toward the door of unanswered questions. Peace now. It is all.

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