Airless and unloved, in the dank basement of the mind is past
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
into bloom inside— neither can we breathe nor can we hope to achieve
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
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