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Immortality Jan 9
Once it was love,
now it is a wound,
a gentle reminder,
of what we lost.

It's beautiful and ugly at the same time.... maybe...
I don't know...
Misguided steps, manipulated, broken,
Fragments of a life, tokens,
Memories, dark, awoken,
Provoking ramblings, choking,
Left for dead, moping,
Listless, out of time.
When a dark memory lingers
Deck of cards,
Pictured scenes,
Pastel backs.

Just have to remember,
In order to play memory,
But no one will remember me.

MON
When someone fake takes a place in the real world.
So, within the crowds of people and chaos,
It was your face that I vaguely remember.
I think it was in Winter or around December,
If I Recollect correctly, it was probably November.

You were walking through the Crowds, so tall and so lean,
A crafted work of art, so unreal as it might seem.
It was so noisy, that I was lost in my own thoughts.
The expression on your face, was worried and distraught.

I remember it like it was just yesterday
I was wondering if your are Okay?
you seemed to be troubled by something
you just went on your Merry Way!!

To this Day I remember,
how you made an expression on me.
I just wished I could have known what was wrong
You are nothing but a Faded memory


B.R.
Date: Unknown
Zywa Jan 7
Here I cross the Rue

Bouzarés, not on the map --


only in my mind.
Novel "Een Fries huilt niet" ("A Frisian does not cry", 1980, Gerrit Krol), chapter 8.1

Collection "Appearances"
Steve Page Jan 3
You glance up once again
from the rediscovered photo,
sellotape stained and saved
for this future finding.

You hold me yet again in
the honesty of your peaceful smile,
in that shared perfect moment
catching us all unaware.

But that was just before our fall
into confusion, into the fog
that suddenly enveloped you
and robbed us all completely.

But now you return to mind
and I can return your smile
once again.
This month marked the 5th anniversary our mum's dealth after 3 years of dementia.  We were fortunate enough to have a glorious photo of her about a month before dementia really bit deep. That photo has pride of place in my home.
She remembers
when the light
was filled
with silent ghosts.  
They would flicker in and out
in the cigarette smoke  
of the theater,  
each frame
an ashy wisp,
a burnt offering.
The story spooling out
in the air
was a familiar one.
The  sentiment
caught in her heart
and  made her cry.  
  
Years later,  
she went back,
after the smoke
was banned
and only the light
was permitted to filter.
The ghosts  
talked to her, now-
but it was no longer
a sacred thing.
There were profane words
and the noise hurt her ears.
In this night  light  
there were no  
familiar family faces.
Everything was clear,  
startling new and strange
and all the colors
too bright  for her eyes
to bear.
And it was then
she knew
she would die
in this nightmare dream.
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