a mural unto a night sky

[sweetwater]

i suppose the lines we draw
are the shapings of an eye
and the experience and familiarity
which becomes our personality
are the imaginings and markings of a day

and time however we spend
whether to surface and to reach
or to just lay there
underneath the canopy of a sun
or to remember the passing
as if each moment became the next

and all that we have left
are the years that pass between us
and the counting
forging memory into the incandescent
finding meaning in the absence of our strength
and lasting long enough to catch a breath
and to breathe

i suppose the lines we create
are the images of ourselves
in retrospect
and the looking back into the previous setting
be it of light or darkness
be it of weakness or fortitude

i suppose the canvas is the weather
where the brushing of rain colours
is a background of shapes and half sizes
and small sounds of water

i felt the cool breeze like a wind chime
in the afternoon and a tall glass
of spirit and ice
washing away the atmosphere of stains
and the red shadows of evening
became like a fruit bowl painted
in oil on silk

i moved between the beginning of a sound
that ended the movement of my heart
and each beat stopping in a drum roll

i imagined the ending to be something
less ambiguous and more certain
embracing each footstep as if it were
the first in a long series of numbers
and manipulations

i suppose the steps we take
colourizes the morning before we wake
and becomes the familiar and recognized
shades before sunset and a glass of beer

i thought of it as a metaphor
in the absence of a known reality
and called it sublime and unknowing

i forgave it its shape
for being overtly round
and plump

and let it live as it were
the foretelling of fortunes
and a play on words

i suffered its detail and in its
place i remembered to scratch
the surface with a wire brush
long enough to blend the lines
into triangles and knots

and then i let it go
and watched the heavens open
into a sky of sunlight
and the fabric of my eyes
closed the strands that
bent the edges closer
to the lines of a memory
and of a time long spent
in a desert of shallow places

and protected harbours where
ships stayed anchored until
daylight

and the passing of each star
during night
became at last a surreal
hotel and a mural
unto stars

[hester_prynne]

"forging memory into the incandescent"

This line, it's wonderful.
The last four lines, it's marvelous.
That you could share like this.

Yeah.
H

[Perdida]

each stanza spoke to me, it told me what i already knew but needed to hear again.

Thank you!

m

[sweetwater]

thanks! for your kind comments!

[sooZen]

...just like a cool breeze. I enjoyed this poem mucho. Gracias.

Camarero, cerveza por favor!

[saw]

inspired work.....so much to consider, but a poem with real movement,
and pace......a trot through life with open eyes and mind....
an intriguing panoramic sketch of one's thoughts and notions.....