Postcards from …

There are skeletons in my closet,

There’s an elephant in the room;

There’s something in the air and water;

Whispers spread as blue evening blooms

 /

I sit cross-legged in the corner

On the floor, where my fevered dreams

Lie before me, dissected, rotting,

Magic stolen from them – by me

 /

So I cut and paste back together

Mountain peaks, bullrings, oceans, ice

Smiling faces, well-wishes, curses,

Universities, slums, loves, lies…

 /

And the skeletons in my closet

Start to dance to forgotten chants

And the elephant kneels before me;

Smiling, we travel through my past

 /

To the time I believed in magic

And knew how to fulfil a dream;

Watching myself change, scared, I notice

 That I’ve grown tired, cold and meek

8 thoughts on “Postcards from …

  1. This is a great write. Beautiful portrait of the elephant. And the life path you describe may be too common. This is one of my favorites of yours – There are many good ones!

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