To be reborn, break the caul of the past.
Take off the moth-eaten shawl of the past.
This moment’s open doors and empty rooms.
Portraits, mirrors line the hall of the past.
Cow blood on the sheet can save a bride’s life.
Danger of scripture, alcohol, the past.
We long for warm beds and soothing stories,
to bathe in the waterfall of the past.
Raspy. Wheel-chair bound. Do his grandchildren
know he was vibrant and tall in the past?
How seldom we fully touch another,
reaching through cracks in the wall of the past.
Hoping for treasure lost along our way,
at night, with tattered nets we trawl the past.
The body aches and refuses. Finger
frozen – a claw. Tired arms haul the past.
Our minds distort like funhouse mirrors. How
much do we really recall of the past?
Footsteps on pavement, cigar smoke, spring’s first
tepid wind make her fall into the past.
Sinead’s dead. Brave punk angel, at least
bullies and torment are all in the past.
Stay present, Stone, tied to the mast of love’s
ship. Ignore the siren call of the past.