Puddle of Life

Sometimes when you go back to a place from your past things are not the same.

I find myself grappling

With a new reality 

One I'm not sure how to grasp

I'm holding on tightly 

To things that were

And no longer exist

Like ice melting through warm fingertips

I breathe in the scent of home

Awkwardly 

And it feels good inwardly 

Yet the warmth and promise of support

Has been somewhat a mirage

There one week

And gone the next

Like ice melting through the crack between warm fingertips

Ice puddles on the ground

I'm trying to scoop beaded droplets of water

To reform the sculpture that is my life

Do I need to breathe the icy breath 

Of isolation and depression upon it

To solidify it's remains

thus forming a new life?

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

I think many of us are inclined to hang on to those things from the past which give us happy memories. You are right though about not going back. A few years ago just before my brother died we drove to our childhood home. It brought all the ghosts out. Made us more unsettled than happy. I related to this poem very much. Thanks for the read. Some lovely poetic expression here, and it touched on the emotions.

Chris

[LeslieNoel]

I am so glad that you could relate to my poem. Yes, it certainly can be an experience and a mixed bag when going back home either for a visit or moving. I had made the decision a year and a half ago to move back. There have been ups and downs, but I feel as though I am finally finding my feet. Thank you for your kind words about my writing.

[Chris Shaw]

You are welcome. Pleased to find this one:)

[LeslieNoel]

Aww, that made my night. :):)