imbalanced…

imbalanced

when
will the ghosts
arrive
the ones
that
plague
our memories
lovers
forgotten
promises
made
but never meant
words
not spoken
dreams
abandoned
for
compromise
oh
how
those ghosts
seem
to linger
outside consciousness
but
breathe
into each day
as
if
about to speak
but
ne’re
an audible word
is heard
just
whispers
how
can this be
is it
what they call
madness
when one
can
no longer hear
their own mind
above
the muddled whispers
of
their ghosts

 

 

unclaimed…

unclaimed

gathered up
my
memories
and
placed them
upon
my mind’s table
sorted
through
a few
and
tossed others
aside
especially
the ones
tainted
by
the hatred
of
others
there
were quite
a few
of
those
including
several
i had not
recognized before
but
i
like others
are
haunted
by
apparitions
of
yesterday’s
trust and belief
in
any case
the remaining memories
were
of
loves lost
and
loves unclaimed
each
unique
in their own way
none 
could
or
should
be regretted
just
past moments
in
time
unclaimed baggage
from
a trip
long completed

in an old shoe box…

digital decoupage cwmartin 2011

as i stared
at old photos
the residents
of a discarded wallet
aunt bea
placed her hand
on my shoulder
and said
regret
for the things
in our past
somehow makes
what
we’ve lost
seem
more dear
love remembered
is not
the love
that one finds
when they
return
to where
it all
began