A flash poem written for JD Mader's 2minutes go writing exercise... It's every Friday, so if you fancy writing something - whatever you feel like - head over there, or just read the flash fiction and poetry.
I am the guest,
The unnamed one who trips and trots
Through closed rooms, opening doors,
Seeking ways to understand what’s gone.
I wander with a heart long emptied,
A dying sound is all I emit from dry lips –
Unheard of, these gems of dust fly
From myself to you and back again,
Senseless, these things making no sense.
I dream of finding a penny while you die,
And yet I know you have no care,
And for this reason I will not despair
When you are gone. I will not sink.
I will not dwell on past things long gone
Or think to ask you a yard of questions,
All unfathomable, dried, twisted, cold.
Can I still speak when you fall ever silent?
Will you hear me when I rack and wail?
As the walls close in to embrace me cold,
I know I’ll remember how all this I sold.
I am the guest
Who wanders in and empties out,
Drifting on these small gusts of memory,
For everything else is long gone, stolen,
And we are but the remnants of our selves.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 27, 2018