Memory Palace
A poem
A bleaching here on here, it is When I talk to you and I see that look in your eyes, a warning sign And then on a walk, we talk, we talk, and then again, we talk Never reaching the end Pear trees ripening, grotesque and sumptuous Fallen fruit, rotting, worms akimbo and twisting in awkward delight Flesh Consumed.
Talking of the time when we both loved that moment, our hands intertwined Autumn leaves, and late rain, swirling colors, a blizzard of orange hues A splotch from a giant paintbrush, illustrating the countryside, like A children’s storybook.
As I look at the reflection in your eyes, that moment, that moment When the twilight catches refracting light alit from the canopy And I capture lightning in a jar.
Smiling faces and decadent dreams and dancing in the fields Of fetid bogs A creep, creeping into the mists, sinuous and terrible Encircling trunks and laughter, choking
Dire portents gather in illuminated manuscripts in the library of my memory palace I place a bowl, contents murky and alone, on the mantle, and ponder a bit Seemingly without precedence, a ray of sunshine peeks between Somber curtains and fills the room with resplendence.
Colin Thomas lives and works in the Southeastern US on various projects during the day and explores writing, fiction, poetry, and form in the evenings. Husband, Father of Three, avid Foodie, and caretaker to various animals.