We walked in with the snow
Carried on drifts
Talking to the ghosts of those
We had left behind.
The sun fought in contrast
To the biting air of  the frozen landscape.
Our breath visible proof of life
As we trod crystals underfoot.
Strange monuments marked our journey
Charred sculptures of wood
Dotted throughout the forest.
I searched for you
Halting the path of strangers
All to no avail.
We passed boulders of burial grounds
Heads bowed in silence
As we continued to follow the spirit paths
Of these haunted lands.
Walking towards the future
Where we only met our past.

What's gone has made me what I am
So I shall not fear what's ahead
But put trust in what will be, will be
And choose to live instead

I refuse to live in the now, worrying
What may or may not be
But take this moment in time
And live it totally

There's no time like the present
To breathe deep and feel alive
Living in the here and now
In each moment as I rise and thrive

Now is all there ever is
It's the only time that's real
So as the future takes its course
I’ll leave the past to heal

Freud says tattoos
Are
The Manifestation
Of a
Trauma

Every point
A
Separate pain
We
Have
Suffered

It took
Two
And a
Half
Hours

To complete
The
Diary
Of my
Trauma

And half a million perforations

To convert
Those
Memories
Into something

New

And

Beautiful

To finally
Let go
Of the past

slipping past my bones
deeply over the rim

nightfall liquid rushing
through the crown
of my head
eyes wide, a-glow
            with new vision

Yes. I will meet you there
in subconscious phosphorescence
pools of knowledge
forming between
the feather weight
of our lashes

wait for me
for I am floating
stellar-dipped arms
outstretched,
feeling the particles
the soft space between our
eyes, aligned

Come
let us receive each other
in astral ease
a rocking delight
of non-physical
until we can one day

touch

Dusty music box
tucked behind
a bookshelf
that could have been
well read
instead shrouded in cobwebs
At the foot of the shelf
sits an old typewriter
faded oil canvas
the back drop for
boxes of all shapes
sizes and mildewed states

Journals, memoirs and autobiographicals
Classic fiction even a thesaurus
all packaged away in storage

A lonely guitar longing to be strummed
The once grand piano
silent now
A saxophone minus a reed
TV's and vintage consoles
even a few dolls

Its all there all packaged in storage

When reality went virtual the sensual became obsolete