A life in ruin,
With every founding brick
Crushed into crimson dust,
Again;
/
To start anew, where
In this frigid, barren land
Do I begin to look for
The strength?
/
Under the moon I
See but pale ghosts
Of what has been,
And miss
/
The things I loved
And thought I knew, but
It seems now like they never
Did exist
/
Under the sun I
See only silver whirlwinds
Of rising dust, and breathe
Them in:
/
I was the one,
Out of whose mind they have escaped,
And so to hide them in my chest
I shouldn’t fear
/
Under the spring rain
I’ll kneel and slowly wash myself
Of everything I used to dream of
And dread
/
So when the skies
Are clear, I can begin to build
Another beautiful but fragile
Wonderland
Reminds of Beatles “… once there was a way to get back home again…
Once. Yes. However, I don’t know that there is anymore.
The past provides little to build upon…a better foundation may be your dreams…be well my friend.
I think, perhaps, there was never a solid foundation to start with, but one sand castle built on the ruins of another. Always back to absolute zero. Dreaming quite so much is exhaustingly fruitless.
Gorgeous!
Thank you, darling R! Glad you liked the poem!