Scars

Scars

If you mumbled requisite words I could rise from this unripe death and become an ICBM.

Such is the nature of rubber bands and passing clouds. Here, gone and here to hear again awaiting your affirmations.  Stark like a Red Supergiant, I gave flagrant heat and light, in those light years back.  What is brilliance without a backdrop sky and hungry audience in this cold Universe?

Demanding more luminosity, is it some dark me you think you see?  You are mistaken, maybe. Or perhaps, I am a stranger to myself in these latter days, as I do not seek mirrors or thumb Vanity Fair.

Slowly, I become a Yellow Dwarf. Big as the morning Sun yet tiny like evening’s thumping heart that misses love. There, blazed a hot thrust of flare across the darkened sky, I say. Believe me, I was there.  Believe me.

Aloft, air gets thin. Adrift far from this mood and attitude, I am a fraud of existence and all existence becomes inanimate, remaining tangible like trees even in the hereafter. Forgive scars that cannot be retraced.

Standing facing howling winds that peeled away my bark and softened my bite:

A part of me is apart from me.

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About memoirpoet

I've been faking it as a writer for more than 30 years. Keep that low.
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