Whisper The Name I Lost
© Surazeus
2018 11 07
The fuzzy wallop of dissolving time
when beaming consciousness fuzzes to mist
of disconcerting fear for grasping why
nothing vanishes through blank memory
of helpless floating down dizzy nowhere
consumes name of the someone I might be.
Submerged in fragments of slow drifting scenes
when walking through store of old furniture
cluttered with debris from homes of dead souls
sold by their children to release their names
scrawled in pencil on the desk someone built
I almost remember the name I lost.
The white daisy in the porcelain vase
which contains the memory of abused hope
reflects sunlight inside the dusty window
dispersing puzzle pieces of lost days
when we played in the garden after church
of bodies aching for the tense embrace.
Breathing deep to stay awake in gray phase
of dissolving timelessness through sun glow
gold on grass outside the cracked window glass
which seems to reflect strange shape of my face,
I touch dust particles swirling in air
to remember wheat blooming from vast fields.
So I push open white-painted wood door
and walk among apple trees in sunlight
silent as infinite sky in my eye,
white dress tickling my knees when I stand still
in buffeting breeze, fragile bones of glass
splintered sharp as ice that crackles at dawn.
Dizzy blankness of gray buzzes my head,
dispersing sensual tingles through my hands
when I clutch timeless harrowing desire
to faint on grass beneath the apple tree
where gold face of the angel watches me
though my sweet mother died when I was three.
Emerging from timeless sea of gray mist,
I wake stretched on grass under canopy
from Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil,
so I sit up and stare at my frail hands
which tingle from pricks of needles that stab
evanescent sheen of my wavering soul.
I look for the bright angel in the tree
where rays of sunlight shimmer in my eyes,
and feel the solid world of house and trees
swell pungent with wild throbbing of my heart,
so I stand and whisper the name I lost,
Lois camped in the land of Idaho.
Chewing hard red apple from silent tree,
I walk inside small house by sparkling stream,
and gaze at baby boy in the white crib
who stares at me with eyes of my dead mother,
so I play How Great Thou Art on piano,
and sing till drab house glows with light of Heaven.
© Surazeus
2018 11 07
The fuzzy wallop of dissolving time
when beaming consciousness fuzzes to mist
of disconcerting fear for grasping why
nothing vanishes through blank memory
of helpless floating down dizzy nowhere
consumes name of the someone I might be.
Submerged in fragments of slow drifting scenes
when walking through store of old furniture
cluttered with debris from homes of dead souls
sold by their children to release their names
scrawled in pencil on the desk someone built
I almost remember the name I lost.
The white daisy in the porcelain vase
which contains the memory of abused hope
reflects sunlight inside the dusty window
dispersing puzzle pieces of lost days
when we played in the garden after church
of bodies aching for the tense embrace.
Breathing deep to stay awake in gray phase
of dissolving timelessness through sun glow
gold on grass outside the cracked window glass
which seems to reflect strange shape of my face,
I touch dust particles swirling in air
to remember wheat blooming from vast fields.
So I push open white-painted wood door
and walk among apple trees in sunlight
silent as infinite sky in my eye,
white dress tickling my knees when I stand still
in buffeting breeze, fragile bones of glass
splintered sharp as ice that crackles at dawn.
Dizzy blankness of gray buzzes my head,
dispersing sensual tingles through my hands
when I clutch timeless harrowing desire
to faint on grass beneath the apple tree
where gold face of the angel watches me
though my sweet mother died when I was three.
Emerging from timeless sea of gray mist,
I wake stretched on grass under canopy
from Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil,
so I sit up and stare at my frail hands
which tingle from pricks of needles that stab
evanescent sheen of my wavering soul.
I look for the bright angel in the tree
where rays of sunlight shimmer in my eyes,
and feel the solid world of house and trees
swell pungent with wild throbbing of my heart,
so I stand and whisper the name I lost,
Lois camped in the land of Idaho.
Chewing hard red apple from silent tree,
I walk inside small house by sparkling stream,
and gaze at baby boy in the white crib
who stares at me with eyes of my dead mother,
so I play How Great Thou Art on piano,
and sing till drab house glows with light of Heaven.
Nice write, stars are shedding tears,, falling to your dancing floor.
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