poetry: Then


They are everywhere,

Lying in wait,

Seeking out my gaze,

Then springing forth history into

My present.


A chair; an embrace,

A wall; an observer,

A sound; a moment,

A word; a person,

A view; him.


There is no escape,

Everything a looking-glass, reflecting

A time gone by still mine yet fleeting,

I grasp the waters of history,

It runs away.


Only feeling remains;

Ice cold trembling,

Warm cheering comfort,

As I close my eyes, the doors,

To seek my aching heart’s rest.


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