Soundlessly floating among clouds of thought
Leaping from one random thing to the next, but trying to create a narrative
Eventually to his sleep-addled brain, it all made sense
Everything a flow of deranged circumstances distilled into a crazy story
Pushing slumber back into consciousness, the construct fades, but the emotional memory remains
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Fires roared through the house, consuming everything in their path
Leaving behind black charred remains of a lifetime together
All of those bits of the past turned to smoke as if an offering to a non-existent deity
Mumbling to himself, the former occupant of the home shuffled in his slippers down the street
Everyone would be worried about his dementia, but if he couldn’t have those memories, no one would.
Finding the remains of summer scattered upon the ground
As I walk along the shrinking daylight
Leaving the time of green behind
Looking toward the time of stark contrasts of dark and white
Finding the right words to say
Letting them linger on the tongue
And then hurling them onto the page
Viscous remnants of enlightening ideas
Obscuring their true deeper meaning
Removing all taste from the text
Everything in this tomb reeked of antiquity
Xenon lamp in hand, Rachel peered closer to the relief
Pomegranates punctuated with palm fronds trialed to a sarcophagus
Lovingly she thought about her fame and how she kept this whole thing to herself
Oblivious to a small vibration that sent dust falling from the ceiling
Rachel went to leave, but the tunnel back was now blocked by a ton of stone
Eventually someone would find her remains there as well
Image: upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/10/Egyptian_-_Wall_Fragment_from_the_Tomb_of_Amenemhet_and_His_Wife_Hemet_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg/1280px-Egyptian_-_Wall_Fragment_from_the_Tomb_of_Amenemhet_and_His_Wife_Hemet_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg
Pushing his horse to go faster, Jon peered through the fog
Under the full moon, the fog formed a concealing haze
Muttering under his breath, Jon was forced to slow down
Pelting his head on a branch wouldn’t be much better than getting caught
Killed was killed, no matter which way his head crumbled
It began to clear and Jon could see the old school house. He was almost home
Nathan found Jon’s remains mingled with those of an orange squash on the school’s wall
Closing bags of memories
Letting go of mementos
Erasing that feeling of but if I need it later
Arranging the remains
Noticing how much more room there is in my space
Stories and photos from Scotland
A paper-cut survivor
Abdi Mohammed
The Art of Prose and Poetry
self-publishing
Sarah Torribio and her right brain. Music. Musings. Writing. Style.
We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
Sharing is Learning
AUTHOR
Random Stuff I Think You'll Like
Things I love, typically with people I love. Will likely be hiking, baking, and doing other things that make me happy.
The Official Home of Rolli - Author, Cartoonist and Songwriter
Never Short On Words 