Foreshadowing this summer.

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The trouble with taking that creative writing class in Oxford last summer is that now besides prose ramblings, you get to gaze at homework. I am taking a class in poetry this summer, and will soon demonstrate the truth of the old saying, “a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing”. Live in fear.

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The story of my life will be written,
first in bright crayola then in pale ink,
finally silent echoes in cyberspace.
A chronicle of an imperfect journey

I learned most from things forbidden

There were places I never intended to go.
But somehow, by not paying attention,
I arrived. I was always surprised;
astonished really.

I have been lucky.

Flashbacks of remarkable characters
effortlessly glide on the breeze of memory.
They float untroubled, waiting for me
to call them home.

I have seen wonderful things.

Images of delightful accomplices
playfully flicker on the loops of memory.
Sliding in and out of focus
yet, somehow, remaining crystal.

I have heard things meant for the Gods.

Echoes of astounding lives
speak gleefully of whispered memory
cloaking me in a cascade of stories.
They become my soundtrack.

It has been an incredible journey,
a pilgrimage of a thousands of souls.
Few tried to hurt me, and those who did.
I forgive.