YEAH, IT'S JUST A LEGACY THING

On the nature of memory, experience, life lived. Written while in a state of the deepest despondency over a failing project, dust to dust. What is memory but a sort of dust in our minds?

Your mem'ry motes in sunrise thoughts

O how they float through morning minds

A face - you know the one - motes by

You smile, here, now, years on, you smile

O how you smile! Another mote...

A purple speck of love drifts by

But this? A mote of death, a face...

A shard of remembrance fresh cuts

You shy, a tear swell rimes your eye

You gaze anew into the motes

You see yourself a-looking back

A mote in other's fading minds

A settling sheet of nothingness

A film of fallen lifelessness

.

.

.

Author's Note

Pic of an advert in the Paris metro. I can't remember what it was advertising. Who cares?

Reviews

[Priscilla Sayers]

A beautiful poem.

[Cherrie Palmer]

It does seem true that, in the morning hours memories find us, memories can enrich and haunt, and this poem does enrich.

[emmajoy]

Your writing always open doors into different parts of me, your words carve nooks and crannies as if needing to hide; you have a mind that seems to fly yet cry for something else. Those last two lines are dark meanders trying to find something near lost. 'A settling sheet of nothingness ~ A film of fallen lifelessness'

[Tina Kline]

A sort of splendid saying goodbye. Your words here are magical, as always.

[Ken Simm.]

A requiem of sorts. With all the elements it should have as this carefullly and eloquently placed.

[Emily B]

you were one of the very first shining poets to catch my eye here . . . I still remember reading your wonderful words, a world opened