Monday, March 21, 2016

Strands of struggle

 As I stood up to leave
frayed threads of delicate weave,
caught in the hands of time
hurled me across decades
to places I had been before.
Only now, it seemed like a chore.
Only now, smeared in sepia,
like the coffee stained receipts
left behind in empty seats,
I drifted aimlessly in the draft.
If only, strands could be untangled,
clocks unwound and reset
I would! I would forget
what it is like to be forgotten.