It starts;
one moment, I’m afraid of another sleepless night,
the next, I’m tumbling through the kaleidoscope.
Aware that I’m asleep,
hungry for the adventure.
The people;
People I know, yet have never met.
Moments of deep affection, true love.
Then loss.
Moments of deepest regret
for things I’ve never done.
Yet somewhen, another life,
experiences carried over.
Lessons learned too late.
The engine screams.
She screams beside me;
terror.
Fun.
Excitement.
...Terror.
Tumbling now,
the chasm yawns.
The impact…
Sunshine,
golden green.
She’s laughing now
atop the hay.
The wedding dancers
all around.
Now black with grief.
The sunshine’s gone.
Rain rivulets on soot-streaked glass
blur the mired streets beyond.
The darkened room
with presence dread
and backs turned
on that foul-some bed.
A leaden heart,
with leaden feet
marching to a leaden beat.
Stumbled tread
in column held
behind her pall
on wheeled bier.
That deep black well
where once was joy.
Is all turned topsy of a sudden
as silvered sea
bears all away
beneath that moon,
so full, so free.
Helter skelter,
faces, places.
She reaches up, care in her face,
her hand caresses my cheek.
The world goes still,
peace floods my heart.
Then flat calm sea,
dark, deep green,
rising silent as the wall approaches,
lifting my boat,
my small, frail boat,
up, up, up,
the top is breaking,
yet still on up
now rushing, racing, surfing wild,
no control,
a prayer for an end.
Silence
floating over deep,
dark beneath the moonlit grey.
Limbo.
Dread.
Something moves;
a swirl of silver and black,
down, deep down.
She rises all around,
and cradled in her upturned hand,
I’m saved.
The peace.
The warmth.
The rest.
Safe
Now tumbling once more,
joyful, free.
We’re rolling, racing,
down the rabbit-chewed hillside;
cartwheels,
roly-poly,
laughing all together.
Standing, swaying, laughing at the foot,
our mad group of carefree kids.
She laughs up at my face,
then kisses me.
My first kiss.
I awake.
The sense of loss overwhelms.
Who was she?...
About the Creator
Christopher Lloyd
A lifetime in horticulture, of one sort or another - a life of lessons. And now a new identity; 'Retired'. Writing in the morning, bees and gardens in the afternoon and art in the evenings. That's the plan. When I can stick to it...
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