The Vista of Rebirth

What happened to you, to me, to that dream we swam in until
our arms could move no more? The drunkard of the village was
your uncle and your mother had the temper of a sailor away at sea.
I will always remember her lilting words and sometimes name,
your tempestuous crown above the bar, and the way she threw
that fucking table lamp at me. I loved her, and I loved you.
Now you are gone, you’ve left the path and your mother
is a feather on a peeling window sill. Me? I’m perforated.
You shot a hole through me when you closed your eyes and sought
the vista of rebirth. Did you have to leave me behind, my friend?
Was it enough then, that they misunderstood your lunacy and silence
when they could not taste your pain? I didn’t need goodbye.
I only need to know why. And now, I have only guesses and memories
as colored by psychedelic prisms as they are painted by grief.

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About theminstrelscitadel

In search of courageous souls who aren't afraid to dig a little deeper and have a conversation about all manner of things. Rant, rave, debate, discuss... let's do it!
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4 Responses to The Vista of Rebirth

  1. Oloriel says:

    Powerfull and touching, I could relate to some parts.

  2. Your poetry is beautiful, and I’m sure it’s woven into the fabric of your prose. πŸ™‚

  3. Thanks, Michelle. Always nice to see that you check in on me once in awhile. πŸ™‚

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