Sweeping in the corners
dust began to stir.
Up it rose,
motionless heart,
what was settled came alive.
Broom unallowed to pause.
Particles soaring,
eyes burning
throat choked, uneasy.
It's the dust of memories time.
How did all this accumulate
in unswept corners?
misplaced times
Regrets of the task
of sweeping unswept corners.
Let the remainder still.
Closeting the broom.
reluctance,
close the cover
Dust still left in unswept corners.
***
Have you ever gone through an old photo album or memory chest and found something belonging to a lost love, friend, or family member. Do you remember feeling choked but not being able to stop looking at it, not able to put away the memory? It's a spiralling feeling and you wonder how you were ever able to forget. You suddenly regret having looked through the album or memory chest, and you reluctantly close it. Isn't it odd how you never dispose of it though?
dust began to stir.
Up it rose,
motionless heart,
what was settled came alive.
Broom unallowed to pause.
Particles soaring,
eyes burning
throat choked, uneasy.
It's the dust of memories time.
How did all this accumulate
in unswept corners?
misplaced times
Regrets of the task
of sweeping unswept corners.
Let the remainder still.
Closeting the broom.
reluctance,
close the cover
Dust still left in unswept corners.
***
Have you ever gone through an old photo album or memory chest and found something belonging to a lost love, friend, or family member. Do you remember feeling choked but not being able to stop looking at it, not able to put away the memory? It's a spiralling feeling and you wonder how you were ever able to forget. You suddenly regret having looked through the album or memory chest, and you reluctantly close it. Isn't it odd how you never dispose of it though?
1 comment:
Similar to my comments regarding "And You," this piece is again about the internal struggles of tormented anguish and that, perhaps, of a former love. Beautiful to read, and yet seemingly heart wrenching at the same time...perhaps, similar to looking at that old photo album or memory box, but we all do it.
Alas, the writer has truly been able to tap into the unique variety of human existence. To which no matter how much something internally turns us into knots or even makes us have utter anger or immense feelings of a sad depression of loss regarding love, we still continue to delve into these elongated emotions.
We are very unique creatures in that we sometimes reflect on the past (whether marvelous or otherwise) in preperation for the future...even so much so, that at times we wish some elements of the past can perhaps become the future..yet again someday.
But of course, that is just one interpretation of the metaphorical broom, but it is a wonder why we never throw it away.
Here's looking forward to your next piece.
Cheers.
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