Trail of Memories

Trail Of Memories

I’ve left a trail of memories,

strewn across the ground.

Each piece a spark of recognition,

a bread crumb to be found.

 

Each fragment woven with imagery,

of smell of touch of sound.

Each instance full of life and hope,

just scattered on the ground.

 

I walk down streets and enter doors,

which peak my memory.

They are familiar but not the same,

the differences are clear to me.

 

I’ve left a trail of memories,

I’ve planted in the dirt,

and when I followed back that trail,

great trees had grown from hurt.

 

©Adam Lucy 2017

Read

Read

I took a seat between the books,

A place to rest my aching feet.

The light was dim with dust in nooks,

surrounded by words on shelves replete.

 

These tomes validation could not be found,

for text aplenty but no readers here.

I watched as words moved across the ground,

they flowed with speed as if in fear.

 

They flowed around the shelves and doors,

across window pains and through the cracks.

They flowed across the walls and floors,

whole sonnets, novels, plays and acts.

 

And as they moved with grace but haste,

a subtle murmur I could hear,

“Please help us, please escape this place,

please read us or we’ll disappear”.

 

©Adam Lucy 2016

Past

Past

There is no life left in this place,

Its buildings empty, bereft of sound.

Its colours drained from walls and curtains,

windows glass lay shattered on the ground.

 

There is no life left in this place,

a kitchen still, no tap drips here.

The oven stands forever lacking heat,

dusty mugs forever thirsty,

for there is no beer.

 

There is no life left in this place,

the cold harsh light is fading fast.

This a place where death resides,

this place that bears the name of past.

 

©Adam Lucy 2016

Connection Paradox

Connection Paradox

Heads bowed,

as if in prayer,

not prayer, but supplication.

Slaves to the blue light emanation.

Tainted with the ghostly tinge of the vapid.

A process of sublimation.

The want the need to engage,

departs, replaced by compliance and isolation.

 

©Adam Lucy 2016

Parachute

Parachute

 

Silken folds balloon in the wind,

falling from such great heights,

protected.

Descent slowed in billowing gale.

My defence,

spread around me,

above me.

 

What wonder to be saved,

saved from pain and misery.

What joy to land safely,

if not slightly off my course.

 

There is no need of a parachute,

when firmly on the ground.

Its weight, now cumbersome,

is still upon me.

Saving silks smother my every breath.

 

How I long for cords cut,

for sweet release.

So I may walk upright,

unburdened once again.

 

©Adam Lucy 03/08/2017