lestblight

the collection now gathers dust

servant to neglection and mood

and pessimist to warmth and love.

I remember suddenly how it once warmed my heart

and made me feel whole and happy.

Every day it gave me new reasons to live

new reasons to breathe

new reasons to want more



And so my life went on at this point

With the guidance and need of it

Always respectful since i needed it

Yet so many years later i find that ive turned so many pages

that i forgot where i once began

and my collection sits alone

away from me and apart from me

sitting in blue light no longer looking at me

and i no longer at it

It saddens me to think of this

that what created my world once

now is forgotten but still a part of me

but forgotten none the less

But what is the collection?

Is it not made up of books, of songs, of film , of words that have turned me over and over?

That destroyed my knoweldge and sucked my brain, until my blood rose like flowers

It was my collection that made my seasons possible

A time for reflection and a time for change

But it is not just the the poems and the songs that sent my body spindrift

Its the people who affected me and who still haunt me to this day

There apperance lingering in theback of my memories

Their words spinning across my hollow mind

And yet they remain apart and separate from me

in my collection in my forgotten collection

But how do you forget such people? How do you wlak away from those who still linger in your mouth?

Its the sadness of life i think

That you never appreciate anything until time casts its shadow and reflection makes it possible to sit in gloom and realize who you are and why you are