Here I am on another wasted Saturday.
Looking at old pictures,
remembering old words and listening to old songs.
The feelings come back,
the years unfold like a book closing from the front
and there you are smiling
and there I am smiling.
We were perfect frozen in time.
I stand up because my back is stiff
I return to the attic
I stand submerged with my past below me;
and if you move too fast you will obscure it
but if you slow down and wait it becomes still
and you can see the reflection.
It’s beautiful and sad like a sonata,
four seasons playing over and over and over
always the same changes
yet you see yourself change
not in the same repetition
but in a kind of a spasmodic pattern
and the weather of our own lives
change our characteristics
the girls,
the boys,
the friends,
the weddings,
the honeymoons,
the struggles,
the deaths,
the sunny days,
the rainy days,
the days you hope would last forever
the days that you watched clocks waiting for the sun to set.
All contribute to one masterpiece,
to one construction,
to one complex work of art:
You.
2007-12-15
11:13:11
·
3 answers
·
asked by
Jonny
2
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry