I fell apart today.
The anchor from which I'd cut away
suddenly reattached, twice as heavy as it had been before.
And I was completely imprisoned,
a heavy weight pulling down on my weary heart.
Like a silent film it hit me,
in jerky flashing, singular grey images;
indiscernible but sad.
A birthday cake.
Shiny smiles reflected from
clear cool sandy beaches.
Warm, cuddles after Christmas dinner.
And these ghosts of us haunt me always
down every familiar street,
every memory, every story, every jewel
adorning the crown that is my life
is haunted with ghosts of us.
Not the us limping, and wounded, and beaten by life,
holding on to those beautiful images.
Eyesight fading, changing at least.
No, the wide-eyed kids who became one that first night
and ignited a fire that burned,
for a quarter century.
A beautiful, perfect, copy-read family.
Nobody forgetting their lines.
And one day I reached out to touch you
And your skin felt cold. Still soft, but cold.
And I knew immediately that I need to cling
to those beautiful images.
And capture new ones,
sharper and more vibrant
with years of progress, and learning.
Loving and gentle with the images of the past
but steady and strong
against the unforgiving winds of time
from every direction.
“We built her strong”,
I tell myself.
"We sure ******* did"
Perhaps, we built her too strong
She’ll never sink,
but she’s not fit to sail.
Leave her where she is, to the salt,
and the sea,
and the rust, the ******* rust.
The anchor, still fastened tightly
but choking my heart no more.
Instead holding me fast,
against the current, and the winds,
and the ghosts of us that haunt me
each and every day.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
I fell apart today.
The anchor from which I'd cut away
suddenly reattached, twice as heavy as it had been before.
And I was completely imprisoned,
a heavy weight pulling down on my weary heart.
Like a silent film it hit me,
in jerky flashing, singular grey images;
indiscernible but sad.
A birthday cake.
Shiny smiles reflected from
clear cool sandy beaches.
Warm, cuddles after Christmas dinner.
And these ghosts of us haunt me always
down every familiar street,
every memory, every story, every jewel
adorning the crown that is my life
is haunted with ghosts of us.
Not the us limping, and wounded, and beaten by life,
holding on to those beautiful images.
Eyesight fading, changing at least.
No, the wide-eyed kids who became one that first night
and ignited a fire that burned,
for a quarter century.
A beautiful, perfect, copy-read family.
Nobody forgetting their lines.
And one day I reached out to touch you
And your skin felt cold. Still soft, but cold.
And I knew immediately that I need to cling
to those beautiful images.
And capture new ones,
sharper and more vibrant
with years of progress, and learning.
Loving and gentle with the images of the past
but steady and strong
against the unforgiving winds of time
from every direction.
“We built her strong”,
I tell myself.
"We sure ******* did"
Perhaps, we built her too strong
She’ll never sink,
but she’s not fit to sail.
Leave her where she is, to the salt,
and the sea,
and the rust, the ******* rust.
The anchor, still fastened tightly
but choking my heart no more.
Instead holding me fast,
against the current, and the winds,
and the ghosts of us that haunt me
each and every day.
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