A simple shoebox, repurposed
with plastered images of dreams –
paper affirmations of aspirations –
shelved and forgotten, its contents
snapshots, faded and torn, remnants
of another time, a different future –
captured when potential was prime
and possibility untainted by illness
this one was retirement – a supposed
celebration – but note how the colour
has drained, the cracks obliterating
pride of accomplishment; and notice
how this one crumbles to the touch –
the fragments dissipating even as
my life has dissipated, the image
lost before memory resurfaces, so
much loss when circumstance dictates
direction, overpowers will, and plans
like snowflakes, vanish in the heat
of reality – pain and insult burning
but wait – this one looks promising –
the edges only slightly torn, the image
discernible – could it be that there is
hope yet – a future author I might be?
That’s the thing about times to come,
we fill them with imaginings, and pray,
our hope, like balloons set free in a sea
of unforeseen challenges, and seldom
does the end result reflect projected
plotting, and yet, there is power in
the dreaming, and so I’ll replace the old
with new photographs to store away.
(Originally penned for National Poetry month, I am repurposing this poem here for Daily Addictions prompt: generate, Fandango’s: captured, and Ragtag Community’s: reduce.)
Thank you for this beautiful verse on the hope and reality of rebirth.
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You are so welcome. Love hearing from you.
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Thanks. You are inspiring
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Now that is a compliment I shall cherish.
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Well wrote. Thanks for participating.
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Yes! The power of dreams surging beyond past loss and regret into the unknown. 🙂
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Thank goodness for dreams!
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How beautiful!
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Thank you! Hope you are having a good day!
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I am, thank you, Ms. Knutzon. Hope your having a wonderful week.
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I am! The Ms. Knutson made me think you were one of my pupils, lol.
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roflmao I’m Phyllis. I’m not sure whether you go by your first name or not so better safe than sorry as some people stand on ceremony, others don’t lol
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My first name is V.J. I always say that as the fifth child my parents ran out of names when they got to me. Nice to meet you Phyllis.
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Ok, VJ it is then. I figured it for a nickname. So I’ll call you VJ then hehe.
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Great poem!
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Thank you!
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