The Cabin Chapbook


Streams of Consciousness 

Not so long ago...lying awake, in the quiet darkness...remembering
How it used to be...who we used to be...and wandering
Across the blazing fields of half-remembrance
Squinting through the smoke of bridges burned.
And searching...for something...someone...myself perhaps,
To show me the way back to where I never was but only believed myself to be.

You were there, as I recall, long-legged, flowing brown hair...
Eyes the color of fertile earth, wet with sparkles of youth.
So lovely, so
And so alone in your thoughts...where I could not enter,
Could not understand...could not be for you what you were to me,
Having not the intuition...or the ability to foresee what someday I would long for.

You left...taking pieces of me with you...pieces I never knew I possessed,
Until they were gone. Leaving behind fragile shells amongst which I walked,
Stumbled, faltered, and fell...bleeding profusely from unseen wounds,
While the darkness slithered quietly into my world,
Casting deep shadows into vacant dreams of dying youth.
Never knowing why...or how...or even when...the darkness took over the light.
Even on the brightest days...a thin film of pain lay over the sun.

Then I left too...nothing more here to see...move along son...the damage is done.
And in our separate wakes, as the years flowed by, ripples converged...then parted...
Random patterns of life’s constant flowing stream, ever widening but never fading,
Lapping at the edges of our thoughts...of each other...of what could have been...
Might have been...could never be. All twirled and twisted into one deep wave of goodbye.
Nevermore quothe the raven...or so he thought...he too, lacking that knowledge of forever.

What went around came its own time...time, that faithful healer of all wounds...
Except those that cut the deepest, leaving unhealed scars and nerves
Exposed to the abrasions of life...cuts that never seemed to heal...would not heal,
Until kissed by angels of fate and justice hovering quietly above us,
But hesitating to place their lips against the open sores of dying dreams
Until someone...or something...cleaned up the mess.

You’ll be home me...where you’ve really always been,
Or some small part of you has...taking up the space left behind by the part of me you took,
So many years very many years another life...another place...another world.
And we’ll lie together again...speaking softly or perhaps in silence,
Drifting with the tides of our thoughts,
Tides which ebb and and they always they did then,
When it all ended...when it all began.


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