Muffit
October 5th, 2004, 01:50 PM
What price Youth? Whether stilled in infant cradles, or shallow breath in wrinkled shrouds, both bow the soul to Humiliation’s cotton changing, like lambs sheared clean of dignity. Rebel gray tissues with echoes resounding, or slates as bare as untouched wax; to exist is to mourn Life’s passing, and let slip joy in mirthless convalescent halls and tearful oncology warrens.
An incident befell us in that distant youth, a mother’s greatest fear for womb’s soft sculpture. As we crossed a simple dirt bridge between the curious red and yellow lakes surrounding, our old pale Dodge’s hood in 50’s latch-less fashion flew up and blinded further progress. Sixty miles an hour with traffic facing, and not an inch of shoulder to save the children and their warder. I survived that day to reach the pain of crushed and broken dreams, a midlife amphora which cannot even stand, my contents now dilute in age’s stream.
Why do hearts covet so, the loss that so soon fills them? Memories abandoned like mute Crusoes, waiting for a passing hope to save them. And Hope, that wily Circes charm, at once a rescue rope and noose, persuades us leave the truth a retread by the wayside of regret. And bids us call insanity friend and mentor, to let bland normalcy grow moss on unlit sides.
The necklaced Annie sunrise sings better loved and lost than not at all; the abandoned blush of sunset weeps that loss is far worse than want, the eon of love brief as a kitten’s, the epoch following interminable as etched marble epitaphs. BSG was naught but the blink of a butterfly’s eye, awaiting its return the Doppler thrust of stars.
When evening wraps me shivering in insomnia, Fantasia’s brooms of long lost joys parade by, and leave by buckets tears I have yet to cry.
Affectionately,
Muffit
:muffit:
An incident befell us in that distant youth, a mother’s greatest fear for womb’s soft sculpture. As we crossed a simple dirt bridge between the curious red and yellow lakes surrounding, our old pale Dodge’s hood in 50’s latch-less fashion flew up and blinded further progress. Sixty miles an hour with traffic facing, and not an inch of shoulder to save the children and their warder. I survived that day to reach the pain of crushed and broken dreams, a midlife amphora which cannot even stand, my contents now dilute in age’s stream.
Why do hearts covet so, the loss that so soon fills them? Memories abandoned like mute Crusoes, waiting for a passing hope to save them. And Hope, that wily Circes charm, at once a rescue rope and noose, persuades us leave the truth a retread by the wayside of regret. And bids us call insanity friend and mentor, to let bland normalcy grow moss on unlit sides.
The necklaced Annie sunrise sings better loved and lost than not at all; the abandoned blush of sunset weeps that loss is far worse than want, the eon of love brief as a kitten’s, the epoch following interminable as etched marble epitaphs. BSG was naught but the blink of a butterfly’s eye, awaiting its return the Doppler thrust of stars.
When evening wraps me shivering in insomnia, Fantasia’s brooms of long lost joys parade by, and leave by buckets tears I have yet to cry.
Affectionately,
Muffit
:muffit: