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Before I was me, I was her.
Before you were you, you were him.
Before we were us we were nothing.

We've been here before.
Walked through the same door.
Never before meeting.

I knew you, the moment I met you.
I felt a connection, a tug of memories.
I knew I'd looked at those eyes before.

Soulmate gets overused,
but how do you explain the pain
when we part?

We've been together before.
Before we were us.
In the Here and Now.

We were then and past.
Soul mates.
Always and Before.
© JLB
09/02/2015
01:12 GMT
A snifter of brandy leads to another
Soon I'll be tipsy, melancholy and discover
that two brandies do not an alcoholic make,
but a bottle? Now there's the shake.
This brandy brews the blues.
It's Amber caramel softness soothes your soul,
but screams the blues.
Your muse is lost in this bruise of blues
Like a long note on a saxophone disappearing.
Let's take a ride on down to the crossroads,
I'll bring the bottle, you bring the bottleneck slide.
© JLB
06/02/2015
19:20 GMT
Fine rain falls and blankets the ground
blurs the images so that it resembles an impressionists scene.
Staring out the window lost in the fine lines of life.
I feel you across the line of time,
I hear you vibrating on the universe's string
I see you in my minds eye
I taste you on my skin, in a snowstorm, in a deluge, in a breath of air,
and I gasp, the only sense lost to me is touch.

You're gone.
You're only here in my memory when I cease so will you.
The scene below my window has moved on apace.
I know not these images, I know only you.
Day after day you return to me,
Day after day you fail to see me.
Day after day you sit and drink.
Day after day I watch you disappear.

This space above the daily pace of life was mine before yours.
I opened the door for you, yet you never fully entered.
Alone you came, alone you remain,
a pity though, for should you cross the string of time
your soul will see mine.
© JLB
05/02/2015
14:33GMT
I stare at the kettle, I've forgotten to flip the switch on
A teabag lies in the bottom of a cup
I look at the clock and wonder where the time has gone.
I'm in the kitchen, there's something wrong.
I see the sink, the fridge, the oven too
Stop, please, let me think.
I turn back to the cup and it hits me,
There should be two.
© JLB
04/02/2015
17:11GMT
Our souls hold our essence,
our past, present maybe even future.
This thought comforts me, in that when I cease
with this husk, my essence will move on,
like a flowing river, a growing bud,
or to a new born babe.



© JLB
31/01/2015
15:10 GMT
Robert Burton in the Anatomy of Melancholy (1628) writes,
"The Pythagoreans defend metempsychosis and palingenesia, that souls go from one body to another."
A thousand origami cranes grants the maker one wish.
One wish to be granted on the paper wings folded and tucked with care.
Eternal good luck is granted say others.
A legend born and borne by the wings of a bird.
What would I wish for after making a thousand paper cranes?
I'd wish that each crane flew away,
saw beauty and love as it dipped over mountains,
swooped over fields, and sang at dawn.
After all hanging by string, being made of paper,
just means that the maker and her birds are waiting.
Waiting to be let from their cage.
© JLB
30/01/2015
02:51 GMT
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