BLOWING BUBBLES
Tis the season of joy and sorrow
I revisit a cornucopia of memories
of passed loved ones
or those of recent past
Seldom do I
reattach to these places
or the faces belonging
to my animated loss
A trickle of echoes
voices embedded
for the life of me
it is succumbing
I wallow inside its bubble
Hollow hallways
that present memoirs
and the silent music
that replays inside
a distant portrait
Oh what tender turmoil
the cascading mirages
and the monumental clinging
Damage control
and the inventible cleanup
the monsters and sheep
an innocent victim
She has lost her voice
I have invested decades
inside this glass sphere
and into a vaporous illusion
I walk these paths alone
pulling up dead flowers
only to plant with faux
so they will remain as
Perhaps I release my breath
and I regain my coloful essence
when no one is looking
and just maybe I will breathe
Without the struggle
Across a bridge of forevermore
I anticipate the unfiltered
beside the explosion of freedom
where I may relish inside its vapor
I shall be that fluid orb
flitting within a shimmer
moving amongst the living
as of now this is elusive
Into this day forward
I cling to the walls
of discrimination
and the suction
of my life lived
Hanging on for dear life
Written by,
Abby lynn
©
12/21/16
BLOWING BUBBLES
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