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Sunday, 11 October 2015

A smirk of the Past

The past steps out of its hiding place,
Creeping behind those who abandoned it;
Those who thought they had it buried,
And safely guarded beneath the earth's womb.

It dies in flesh but lives in its true form,
The fragments of memories and reflections;
Rotating around life like Earth on its axis,
Looking for the way to enter unannounced.

It burns on the stakes of the soul,
But comes together again as dust and ashes;
Swooping down closer to the bottom,
Of the truth, closer to those it belonged to.

It drowns in cold oceans of the heart,
But thrives again with every heartbeat;
Lurking like silhouettes in stoic silence,
A convincing camouflage into the present.

It fades into oblivion but leeches on time,
Bidding its time, waiting for the cue,
To draw apart the curtains of life's stage,
Stepping forward to thrust its blows.

Its face is scarred, unrecognizable;
It is veiled by layers of passing years;
But it has never lost that ghostly smirk,
Inducing the shocking jolt of familiarity.

The past steps out of its hiding place,
Closing in on those who'd forgotten it;
Those who thought they had set it free,
Only to trap it deeper within reality's touch....

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