Memories Buried In Time

My migratory mind indomitably mobile, recedes with the ebb of time, seeks the shore of the past, as the spirited surfer on the wandering waves of life, surging on curled crests carrying the fractured full moon, and within the twirling troughs that store the sunk stars. The wheel of time churns up the disarray dust, settling on the unstable shelf of my dismal listless life. In the maimed moments of perennial perturbation the fulcrum of frail self-realization oscillates beyond my grasp on the rolling ripples of longing adrift. In the weed-webbed terrain draping the darkness within, turns from the wreckage of lost love to a glorious garden. The pathway paved by memory outside its frail fence, waits for me remarkably rejuvenated, to be walked to the mesmeric meadow of the promising tomorrow. The dormant memory is then inspired to innovate the arcane acumen of self-acquired inspiration alchemy. Marigold blooms with hues of hope in the junkyard, the glitter of gold flashes in the rusted crust of riling ruins with the touch of the Midas mind metamorphosed. When my castle of sand on the shore of yearning tumbles down as the discarded debris of doting heart, I discover the hidden flute of feeling preserved as “memories buried in the wavering wash of time.” I play again the lost tune of my life with melody of ecstasy.