So it is with memories. There is a sense that our lives, as long as we are alive, demonstrate repetitions. There is always a reminder of incompleteness, of knowing there is yet more ahead, knowing that some things from the past resurrect, returning and offering us a chance for deepening our understanding. And for appreciation.
A melancholy day, today is. With the day and the silence of falling snow, images and words arise, arrange themselves in some form on paper, meanings to open more fully as the days ahead unfold.
the answer
why this demand
repeated
repeated
over decades now
become command
walk in foreign places
sing in foreign tongues
melodies
you have been entrusted
songs without words
but full with meanings
you do not understand
but know
when you faced eastward
and asked, you were told,
and clear, through the fog,
the answer came
specific, with authority,
as was your response
the time is now
repeated
* * * * * * *
revealing
they will fade and recede
but never are they non-existent
those old loves, incomplete
always revealing
their meanings
missed
misunderstood
couched in disfavor and confusion
more clearly displaying
now
as a many faceted diamond
in an antique setting
retrieved from
the depths of the well
# pab ©17 april 2016 #