The notion of
ghosts is
uncomfortable
sometimes, only
sometimes
though
because
there are things
like abuse and
neglect and
doubt
and
mistrust and pain
and how
how
does
the world keep on
spinning on
and on
how
do we go on
when this thing is still
around -- even if it
has disintegrated
turned to dust and slime, it's
in the air, it's
taking shape again, changing
into something else
smaller, maybe
not so ugly, maybe
not so scary or strong but
still
there. And
the same is true
of golden things, of
happy things now gone
now turned to dust and sunshine
water
and flowers
and air and stars and
memory
and changing
always changing
into something new, something
that can't be touched, can't be
caught or kept and yet
(thank goodness)
still it's
there.
Beautiful. Similar to the last piece but not one to turn around. One that gradually shifts as you read further down. So you are left with something utterly different from what you imagined you had at the beginning. A bit like life in general really.
ReplyDeleteIt brings me comfort to think that those golden things are still there somehow. Even if I can't touch them. I hope they stay bold and strong. Just as I hope the others keep shrinking and weakening until they are entirely eclipsed.
♥
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