Questions
As
I look into suspended,
moments
of time.
Memories
hang, drifting.
Flying
away on butterfly wings,
translucent
words in some rhyme.
These
ghostly figures haunt the essence
of
so much of, that once was -
that
once seemed so sublime.
Seldom
are things what they seem.
Blinded
by the journeys of ones life,
not
knowing, such a terrible crime.
Not
even seen in the essence of a dream.
B. J. “A ” 2
November
10th 2015
