Like fingertips finding the barely perceivable textured marks on the underside of the cards you’ve been dealt, you will worry the scars of your previous defeats and embarrassments though avenues of time to eddy in alleyways of concern before spewing out upon the doorstep of tomorrow with your heart in your hands and your dreams turning like unpicked fruit on the vine.
Like fingertips finding the corners of newspaper pages, you will turn the leaves of the night in a dream of bright new tomorrows and awaken to the headlines of another false dawn where the words are arranged to extract from your heart the essence of hope; the air from your lungs, the silver from your spine and the awe from your smile.
Like fingertips finding the lips of your lover in the murmuring half-light between days and desire, you will follow the contours familiar and new to shine light in the eyes of passing street lights and under the closed doors of tomorrow where the world waits impervious, impassive – knowing you will have to pass it on your way.
Like fingertips finding the knots on the rope used for sounding the depths where the estuary of now meets the ocean of tomorrow, you will measure the past as your ballast and hope love will be your sails before the wind that will blow you between reefs and regattas to the coastlines of dreams and the salt on your tongue.
Like fingertips leaving their mark on the glass where your breath has condensed during a road-trip to forever in a childhood memory, you will grasp at the images once so easily lived but now haunting your heart with the rust of regret, scenes that demand that you construct a machine capable of travelling in time.
Like fingertips finding the corners of newspaper pages, you will turn the leaves of the night in a dream of bright new tomorrows and awaken to the headlines of another false dawn where the words are arranged to extract from your heart the essence of hope; the air from your lungs, the silver from your spine and the awe from your smile.
Like fingertips finding the lips of your lover in the murmuring half-light between days and desire, you will follow the contours familiar and new to shine light in the eyes of passing street lights and under the closed doors of tomorrow where the world waits impervious, impassive – knowing you will have to pass it on your way.
Like fingertips finding the knots on the rope used for sounding the depths where the estuary of now meets the ocean of tomorrow, you will measure the past as your ballast and hope love will be your sails before the wind that will blow you between reefs and regattas to the coastlines of dreams and the salt on your tongue.
Like fingertips leaving their mark on the glass where your breath has condensed during a road-trip to forever in a childhood memory, you will grasp at the images once so easily lived but now haunting your heart with the rust of regret, scenes that demand that you construct a machine capable of travelling in time.
3 comments:
Oh these days. I know them so very well now. So very well.
Thank you for writing the words my heart has been holding, but hasn't yet, let go of.
I'm speechless. Not easily done. My handsome husband will be green with envy.
Cheers to the living breathing words displayed in your post.
S: Glad to oblige :)
CoaTL: I'm happy to have rendered you speechless :D
Post a Comment