Resurrected thoughts take a tumble.

Tempestuous ghosts dance
on the dust of memories lost.
In the cupboard
that promoted life,
the rainbow inside
that shone once
has had its colours lowered.
The storm in the teacup
has all but gone
only the cracks remain.
The hands of time unwound
stalls any further recollections.
Shadows mount ready
to disperse over any remains.
The flame on the candle
has all but departed
so has the love of warmth
that wrapped around it
vanishing into thin air
on the wisps of stale smoke.
New beginnings erase old ways
as seasonal thoughts change
on the resurrection
of memories deemed lost.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

WOW! Lots of times you are fun & flippant, but this time you dove deep & got serious about it! I love the "cupboard" metaphor . . . speaks to how our lives are like a house with compartments for the various things we want to forget or remember. You use snappy imagery to paint this house with somewhat tortured memories, possibly some regrets, but in the end, most of life lost in the shuffle of growing older (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Ruth]

This made me feel so nostalgic, beautiful!

[andrew mitchell]

Thank you Ruth for your warm words.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I think I can smell that stale smoke.
Resurrected memories are burning up my heart.
j.

[andrew mitchell]

Thank you for your words Jacob, always appreciated.