The Past is Still a Mirror
Creating the past,
How long will this last?
Bringing back the tracks from behind,
How much joy will I find?
Sometimes I desire to stay in yesterday’s embrace
when I feel I’m short of sufficient grace,
Sometimes I want to hide in the night,
Away from the emerging light.
The past comes to my head,
Like a book waiting to be read,
I’m tortured by its pictures,
They’re like behemoth creatures.
The past is a glinting illusion in my room,
There’s transmutation to gloom,
It reaches out its hand,
Even as I run to Glory Land.
March 4, 2024.
Copyright © Thompson Emate | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment