I searched the night sky for a familiar constellation of stars, hoping I could catch their orbit behind an opening in the clouds. But luck was not with me tonight. Instead, shadows projected their natural art onto the forest, leading to sparks of memories of my sisters and our shared life. The past felt empty, yet my mind continued sprouting up more scenarios. I struggled to breathe with this onslaught of my past. My brow got damp with sweat, and my head was in a swirl of sketch thoughts. It was all so ugly, worse than I remembered other times.
Tag: past
Old-Fashioned
when you live in a world
surrounded by nostalgic things
realize it was once progressive
you’ve come a long way, baby
farther than you’d ever thought
your adventure would go
you’re leaving behind a message
of where you have been
showing how far you’ve gone
The Taste Of Yesteryears
a smell, a sound or a ghost
pins us back in time
a duality in the timeline
one foot in reality
the other in the past
echoes of the familiar
trap us quite robustly
forcing a face-to-face
as harsh realities present
a reckoning of our actions
will we learn
or are we doomed
to repeat the recollections
over and over
in our unsatisfying dreams
Tracks To The Past
Rodrigo Curi – Unsplash 
The Sunday Whirl
Inspired by Sadje’s What do you see #63 & The Sunday Whirl #489
when memories present
in the silence of my room
i check my expectations at the door
my spine gets comfortable
as i delve deep into the bank of the past
the risk of emotions is high
will my cheeks remain dry
i hear the clunk of metal gears
hobos sleeping in rail cars
their lives in a haze
while i play in the train yard
i wonder in my head where they are now
#Whatdoyousee
Past Present
This
is an
oddly strange,
crazy feeling.
How could I predict
what would happen to me
in the very next moments?
Am I losing my sanity?
It feels quite impossible to know
I am experiencing this again.
Do Over – 2
If nature allowed
reentry to the past times,
would we if we could?
A Box Full Of Life
Opening the lid to the past.
Joy, tears, and laughter escape.
Youthful feelings rushing back expectedly.
Playing in the past like it was yesterday.
Staying there is tempting,
in the good ‘ole days.
But were they really?
Boxed memories are nearly all good.
Who saves the crap?
Those moments slowly come back too.
Time to close the lid.
Back to reality.
Captured
Over and over, repeated re-injury of the senses.
It’s what we had.
Dressed in our despair, bonded by pain.
It’s what we shared.
We twisted and contorted, struggled further to gain control.
It’s how we fought.
Every prick of the conscience drained another abscess.
It’s how we learned.
Giving up was not an option.
It’s how we lived.
I Write Her 