A Mausoleum for My Memories

Thu, 06/21/2018 - 12:09 -- Fran

If poems could weep

sweet dripping words that speak

the heart's pounding defiant secrets

once forced hushed to a peep,

then let my pen stir rivers and streams,

manifesting crooks and bends,

where wandering starry eyed kids like me

can make amends with their dreams.


When you're quiet- it's hard

to make it known how much you've grown.

When you're shy- it's hard

to express your distress

when all you can manage is a sigh of whims being pressed.

For all the standstill moments

when you're standing all alone, those silent defining moments

that rattle your bones,

there was comradery in poetry that

braved the unimaginable and bravened my soul.


WIth no room for mockery in this comradery,

I grew to love words that bound to each other

a dialogue of captivating emotion that soon entailed

me to scripting unbeknowingly my autobiography.

These sheets of solitary solace, a telescope to all the solstices

that have passed in the revolutions of my lifetime.

A lifeline during my lows

When darkness kisses the bruises from blows,

A living memorial to my highs

When life is merry and intoxicated with the bubbly

rose that also paints the unsetting sunny skies.

The simplicity of living is forever etched,

with romantics playing with the folly of their antics,

laughing and crying to the beat of poetry's iambic.


Within rhyme and meter

And between the lines of sonnets written by time,

I’ve found a mausoleum for memories to reside

And on its grassy lawn, lying on my side

I’ve found a place to look up at the stars

Starring shoots of dreams and wishes that

tesseract substance from antimatter.

These supernovas transform calamity,

Refining the chaos that embeds the tapestry of reality,

Giving  witness to the beauty of

the life bewildered, the life beguiled.


If poems could weep,

they remind me that I am still a child,

a fool at best with my heart on a sleeve,

yet they take me by the hand and show me

how far dreams can make you leap.

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