Once I felt inspired, by the sound of voices harmonizing together up on a stage, by the majesty of the mountains, the rushing of the waves.
I have seen concentric patterns in the feathers of birds, and infinite spirals on the shells of snails.
I have been enraptured by the crescendo of timpani drums, carried away as I lay.
Once I felt alive, my senses awakened by awareness of you, as our lips touched and lingered.
Now as I sit here alone, contemplating what should be, what I should do.
I find no inspiration, no blips of interest on the screen, just remembrances of you.
Rather that I was walking through the cool tall grasses in the spring, wild and free, than sitting here remembering what used to be.
Oh, so sad and familiar. Oh, boy... we think we will never get past it, and every moment we're in it feels like blackness.
ReplyDeleteKeep reaching, keep remembering who you were. She will come back... sometimes when you least expect here. Sometimes when you're at the lowest of lows.
Prayers of peace.
ananji
even in the tall grass I would remember...put so lovely! ~rick
ReplyDeleteThe word usages aka analogy here is just brilliant! I love this piece very much! Keep writing!!!
ReplyDelete