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That's Why
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tragedy Sifting through the memories floating down from a the sky like paper ashes crumbling into black satin dust Swirls on my finger tps. I can barely keep them straight as they dislove before I can connect with them in some meaningful mystical nostalgic way. It seems dark and unclear. Where did life go? How did I get here?
i feel like the ashes are shifting under foot never on steady ground. So it's come to this. a train of endless mind numbing thoughts that never meant a damn, burned ages ago cause I don't want to remember. And here, now, how much wasted? There is only one question and no answer.
Fire...
Fire should be cleansing, not confusing. On the other hand, the poem seems to be only about the ash, as if the poet has not yet received any spiritual cleansing or enlightenment, but only a sense of loss. This poem leaves me with a sense of the poet is feeling loss of 'life not worth it', not even any nice memories ' floating down from a the sky like paper ashes'.
Nice write SSmoothie.
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
Yes dear nightlight a section of memories I'd gladly lose
Even the most beautiful ones tangled with them. alas so hard to do when you're feeling confused. Life been so boring of late i wonder if thise ashes would fire up again then i hope the hell not! Hugss and thanks dear, but there is always light because it simply can not exist without the dark. ;)
Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS
"Well, it's love, but not as we know it."
Yes it is...
That was my feeling I was left with exactly, and your poem, the pause between us. Kudos.
.....
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
Memories
What to do without them
how to keep them fresh
is the reason for photo albums
and letters with stamps.
.
Ashes come from fire
and walking on black satin
may be a comfort when age
becomes the object, surviving
as long as Death lets you.
To remember any bringt time
or face or success may become
less important.
.
Scatter them in flower beds,
the ashes of your days,
cultivate memory blossoms
and inhale them even if
their origin is obscured
by time and breathing.
.
~~A~~
06-27-13
3:54p
This is such a beautiful
This is such a beautiful response! Perfect love it thankyou dear lady a for your gracious and kind thoughts! Hugss
Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS
"Well, it's love, but not as we know it."
So true allets...
...that is why I found her poem a little sad. It was more like taking the trash out the morning after memories of a friday night takeout pizza. fire is usually a sign of cleansing, but since her poem only really mentions ash, it leaves you with a feeling there was no resolution for the poet. I liked it a lot....
.....
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "