Music – The Echelon Effect on Spotify shuffle (I do this a lot you see)
We blow bubbles into the golden sunset,
Memories trapped in worlds we struggle to relive,
Reflecting rainbows, shimmering golds
We whisper our secrets into bubbles
And send them off to shrouds of secrecy
Beyond prying eyes and probing fingers
With promises of happily ever after
If we ever make it down from there.
We were but kids, young and in false belief
There will always be more to dream
Bubbles float beyond our clouds, grey skies from there on out
We always knew they would pop
Our precious memories would come tumbling down
Held in such high regard, we would learn to see
Truths about what we’ve done
As our pristine bubble memories rain down sharp fears
We were but kids, in the golden light, wondering what we’ve done
Sometimes she sits on the gilded edge of the time before and the space after, watching people scurry below.
Ants unaware of their instinctual march, if they were to rip their eyes from the path would they see me?
Unaware of his mother’s harried calls a boy lets his toy train crash to the wooden floors. The glowing specter upon the golden spiral lights, reflecting and refracting shimmering beams, flickers then vanishes.
“Mommy did you see that?”
He points, though he’s suddenly unsure of the space where the dancing rays of gold once were.
His mother hurriedly leads him away.
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
Many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff Fields for wrangling Friday Fictioneers
I want to lie between the lines.
To feel the words moving and sinking,
Gnashing and gnawing at the chains binding them so.
I want to sink into the crevices between the melodies,
The breaths between the chords.
To feel the rhythms beating and crashing,
Tearing and thrashing at the ropes holding them down.
I would inhale every heartbroken word.
Let it sink into my skin,
A permanent tattoo of something
Too strong to break yet too fragile to hold.
Something nurtured in the dark
Until it becomes too bold.
Let the waves crash over me,
Stripping my spirit clean.
Sew my pieces with your song,
Delicate threads of gold.
The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch