Picture this..

A poem about how life keeps unfolding. Enjoy :)

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1. Picture this..

One book, half-read, it's golden bookmark curling like a tongue,

dividing you from what has come before

and what, unknown, will follow.

Perhaps, it is half-written.

 

In your dreams you are that golden tongue,

the present like a lock of hair,

Your life it's woven strands.

The book is in two parts:

 

The first half scrawled with memories, dates and dreams,

stamps, stickers, love-notes,

and the postcards you never sent to anybody.

The spine is creased in places - you have reread this

over and over again, and counted the inkblots of ecstasy

in the margins.

 

The dates of weddings births and deaths,

are dog-eared for easy access.

The ink of this part blotted smudged,

with haste. It details the humiliation

you cringe to think of now.

These lines are clear with joy.

 

One page a fire-break of sketches,

that beach, a flying bird, that view seen from this window

and one half-shaded profile that could be anyone.

 

Beyond it concert tickets, laughter, tears,

the date the world would end and then,

the next morning, your implausible smugness.

An ardent declaration circled by its wedding ring,

a faint brown stain that smells and tastes of coffee

and of dust.

 

The first half full of life. Beyond is blankness.

You never knew that clean new paper

smells like potential.

 

How strange to think

that this, your rapidly tarnishing past

was once a future.

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