Hovering,
slipping,
flitting by like birds.
Remembered and lost on every word.
Where do they go,
the memories?
Somehow they get lost at sea.
A sea in your mind,
vast and unknown,
filled to the brim with sunken stones.
Snippets of recent times
surround you on all sides
but only big moments are showing.
Then a familiar word,
motion,
smell,
or sound
and things are quiet for a spell.
Next a rumble,
shake,
and quake.
Misted water on your face.
Flying stones in the air
suddenly take wing,
and feathers falling in your hair
as they, then, are suffering.
What brings this around but the loss of thought
and concentration?
Feathers touch water
but sink even deeper
as stones after.
You're tripped up on them,
those little things,
and now,
face down,
you see them for what they are.
Lost time,
and dreams
But most of all,
they're memories.
YOU ARE READING
The Things Inside
PuisiThis is a poetry book. I'll post anything I've written in this. Just fair warning, I've no idea what I'm writing and am not consistent at all.
