Is it not true?

Airless and unloved, in the dank basement of the mind is past
personified;
its slender hands stretching out like those of a clock,
is it such a sin to relive the minutes, the hours?
Ice melts to reveal what once had lain beneath;
acres of muddy fields,
their steady heartbeat awaiting first light, similar to when rosebud
sprouts endings
into bloom inside— neither can we breathe nor can we hope to achieve
sweet slumber,
the past is a shadow that lingers,
that follows into days that reflect a future existence;
I throw a handful of untidy words into the open, taste coffee
in my mouth long after the day is over
and watch
as they land, eloquent, because of the seeds sown; the present is a harsh
but wonderful lesson.
There are things we can discover about ourselves if we step into the light,
it’s just a blockage of a kind; it’s just a blockage of a kind.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Winter Color #2 by Trisha Adams oil 11×14, Pinterest

Inspired by “Airless and unloved, in the dank basement of the mind.”
– L Igloria ~ A Reparation.

Laura hosts at dVerse and invites us to consider and write about
endings and offers some
final lines. Come join us! 💝

Posted for Poetics: Beginning at the End @ dVerse Poets Pub