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Pictures of Ancestral Images
No colder winter's evening reawakens, in an abrupt
glance, this memory from others already faded
in the inattentive recollection of a son's mind;
even insignificant moments are worthy of thought.
A pubescent boy unlearned and precarious at giving advice,
but ready to provide that tenderness in exploding emotions...
realizing that he would reach the same level of consciousness:
whether or not his intention was tender enough to melt any ice.
He was skilled at creating visions, those presumed ghosts
that wondered in empty space to frighten fragile humans
unable to supersede their ability of vincibility to utter words;
I stood composed across her presence exchanging smiles.
The medieval walls were adorned with pictures if the deceased ones,
they stared sternly at me who wasn't used to seeing menacing faces
that threatened me with the uneasy, irrational fear of immediate rapture:
who could escape their grip on my trembling mouth murmuring scripture?
" No, son. Your grandparents were kind and would do harm to anyone,
they died before you were born, they are protectors not evil people."
And admonished by such comforting phrase, I fell asleep peacefully:
not being afraid of anything, they gently lulled me in their arms finally!
Copyright ©
Andrew Crisci
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