Poem a Day, April 9: "The past is a mirror falling back towards the future"

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Summary: April is National Poetry Month. Have wanted an excuse to do a poem a day for a bit, so I figured why not start tonight. Every day, spend 10 minutes writing a poem (with about a 5 minute think it out step). Here is the first one, about failing our past and knowing we will be let down by our future.

BLOT: (09 Apr 2016 - 08:48:31 PM)

Poem a Day, April 9: "The past is a mirror falling back towards the future"

April is National Poetry Writing Month, where participants try each day to write one poem. I have been wanting to embark upon a 10-minute-poem-a-day thing for a bit, and this seems the perfect excuse, so the rules I'll set for myself are: one poem written a day, only spend ten minutes writing and editing it, no more editing until the end of the month, and try to make them all somewhat unique in topic or theme or style (but not necessarily all three).

This means they will be likely a bit rough, and some might be unfinished, and then at the end of the month I will try to go back and tweak and fix them, etc.

Here is the first one...

The past is a mirror falling back towards the future".

The past is a mirror falling back towards the future
And the ribbon eyes flutter in the window and tie
Into nots and the wind loudly closes shut
Outside the bird calls walk into the woods
Into the deep, into the sleep,
Into the velvet voice of forgotten scary dreams

Reflections are nothings made in the pain
Of memory, made in the willful act of forgetting
Hope made up of bright colors and crooked lines
And judged by the daylight setting upon the sky
All red and clouds and doubts
As all the time in the world dances while pouring out

Does it see me, this mirror I hold, and does it judge?
Am I the fool that failed all those younger selves?
Is the future just another place for my own distaste
At the life I lead, while I judge him that comes after?
Will he look back, sad he failed me,
Or will he walk on and be proud he has existed?

The past is a mirror falling into cracks and tiled floors,
Painted silver and dark by the onset of night.
A man walks down the path the mirror reflects,
Heading back to where he was born, when he loved,
And then, there, as the moon rises,
Turns around a corner and exists no more.


Written by Doug Bolden

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