I pack my memories in little cages,

Wild beasts of an intemperate youth,

The struggle against the walls of time

And seek recognition-an admission of guilt.

But I am past the gremlins of that time.

No amount of persuasion will allow me to set them free.

However, the past clings to our skin like some terrible odour which

Present fragrances cannot mask nor dispel.

So at the helm of all affairs I struggle to shut the lid…

Let the winds blow and scatter these fallen leaves.

I couldn't rake these pieces of my life into a comfortable heap,

That would fit into the fireplace and burn away a scorching memory.

Scarred for life, my experience was my only beacon in the darkness that surrounded me.

Some years later I was reminded, my experience is a falsehood.

A pitiful reflection off cracked mirrors that distort reality.

Whose reality should I fall back…

I was on a ship not long ago

That seemed destined to reach the horizon soon.

But you could tell from the growling and grinding of the engines,

The furrowed brows of weary seaman and bleeding deckhands,

That the captain’s dream was paved with  bloody sacrifice.

Our lives became a living dreamtime story.

Blurring sunrise and sunset till the holy Sabbath

Became depressing metaphor.

I saw the flag fluttering…