History’s
moments
Ghostly shadows, will-o'-the-wisp, St Elmo’s Fire
slip through the cracks of my memories desire
to hang on, they resurface, lying upon a funeral pyre.
For a brief moment, they light up today’s sky,
reflections upon the surface of my inner eye,
before they burnout, dust on the winds, fly.
Memories get bogged down in thoughts quagmire,
creating a stillness, discontinuing what today doth require
to take one past, reach for the stars, climb so much higher.
B. J. “A” 2
April
2nd, 2016
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