Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
I think it was that moment between the look and the kiss that triggered the highlight reel of a thousand seconds broken up between some years, filtered through a kaleidoscope, vaguely narrating familiar tales of one of the world's strangest phenomenons by language of wet mouths, pools of dead stars swallowing our irises, and the sensations left behind from the brushing of hands so subtle, you could never tell whether it really happened, or if it was just the anticipation; and I guess the best excuse I got for why I can't remember any of it, is because I never really forgot about it.
0
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 10:04 PM UTC
Ihadurca Il Imella
I think it was that moment between the look and the kiss that triggered the highlight reel of a thousand seconds broken up between some years, filtered through a kaleidoscope, vaguely narrating familiar tales of one of the world's strangest phenomenons by language of wet mouths, pools of dead stars swallowing our irises, and the sensations left behind from the brushing of hands so subtle, you could never tell whether it really happened, or if it was just the anticipation; and I guess the best excuse I got for why I can't remember any of it, is because I never really forgot about it.
Sometimes I find that my love for video games makes its way into my poetry one way or another. I had written this a little over a year ago, reflecting on a moment I had with an old flame the night before I penned it. Ihadurca/Ihadulca Il Imella is the main antagonist of the 1999 PlayStation game, Evil Zone, an all-time favorite of mine to this day. Episode 9 in her story-arc was titled "Memory is Like a Kaleidoscope", and it was always something that stuck with me as I grew up. Some years back, I started to really grasp on what it meant to me; how memories sometimes have this way of shifting every time you reflect on them as time passes. You sometimes remember one detail, maybe forget another, but the feeling of the moment is always there, it just presents itself differently while essentially staying unchanged at its core. Much like how a kaleidoscope, as different as every shape is each time you peek in and turn or shake it, still uses the same beads and gems to make the shapes you see. And well, that's kind of what it was like sharing that tender moment with that old flame last year, like observing a kaleidoscope of all the moments from six years ago, up to that night.
stoop-kid
Written by
American
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 10:04 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem