Carousel Mirrors

I remember childhood carousel mirrors, antique, ornate, intoxicating, glimmering, glinting, gleaming, turning, calliope piping, toy top twirling, shimmering. I remember all those early years of yearning. I remember grainy analog TV, pallid, pasty-faced, fuzzy vestiges, wavy-gray shadow-shades so giddy. I remember the vapid, vacant egregious, the dull corporate thievery of the airwaves. I remember polychromatic butterflies, splodgy, splotchy, wavy, Lepidoptera, dewy glorious mornings playing in a puerile land. I remember wispy pastels, childish whispered chimera hopes. We all wanted to believe in the carousel. I remember wooden yearlings swirling, ponies pumping, rolling, my resemblance careening, my semblance of being aspiring in glittery silvery sterling. I remember so many seraphs pirouetting, all silently streaming, mercifully redeeming. I remember childhood carousel mirrors.