the wall crumbles into chalky dust under the handprints used to steady my path through this long abandoned doorway. footsteps startle memories which flutter up from the floor. they have lain in prose for ages, relics of a former era, not dead, but wanting.
i come here to the faded images of future unknown, in retreat of the too-brilliant images of future real. it wasn't my future glaring in my face, but oh how it managed to sting my eyes.
ahh, the cool past. the cool unknown. the land where my face has been lifted from every monument, much as the name-obliterated stones of fallen pharaoh.
© Copyright 2004-always TRS
(I wrote lots and frequently in 2004)