Turning Time


To the days when
We demanded more from our eyes,
Before truth dulled possibilities.
When we drank suns and moons,
Sipped layered skies,
A smoky cocktail of
Tears and sweat, lakes and rivers,
The endless cycle of water
Running through our skins, binding us.
Saw the world inside shadows and trees,
Crawled on our hands and knees into spaces,
Finding small universes,
Made music into blades of grass,
Carved meandering paths up mountains
And valleys laced with pastel patterns,
Dug holes for no purpose.
Sweet, sinful, irrelevance.

We remain children
Cloaked in weathering skin,
Strangling innocence.
Waiting to color our days
In chalky grays.
The leftover dust,
blackboards streaked with
rote answers.
Moods dipped in silver
Worn like necklaces,
Dulled with skin oils,
Caked in lotion.
The effort of masking.
Until we polish,
Bring out the reflection,
Until we see again
All the imagined light
Waiting in darkness
Demanding more
From our hollowed eyes.
All the light that shows itself
To the truly blind.


14 thoughts on “Turning Time

  1. Don Royster

    Oh my, what an imagination you have. I love that opening:
    “To the days when
    We demanded more from our eyes”

    All I can say is that I will drink to that. Of course, it is up to we artists to give witness to those days because the rest of the world has forgotten what it was like.

  2. ramonawray

    Ah, when we drank suns and moons… I hear you, my friend πŸ™‚ Do I detect a melancholy note? Are you still recovering from the holidays extravaganza or are you just sad? I hope it’s the former… Love the new poem!

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