Consider all the hidden worlds near to thee that have come and past. All the things your best intentions meant to bring into being but. . . Those hopes for worlds now long dissembled. Take care when you finally sit down in your nightly chair and take on a walk through the fragments of the past. Betwixt so many photographs taken of and by past loved ones disappeared. A tiny clips of paper with a bygone date. Cardboard drugstore covers and gold lame boxes from shops or stores once innocuous but now as long as your depth of imagination long missing. Taken by the artifacts that were never questioned but just accepted left behind. What strange magic they hold for you now. The open up your own closed cupboard of stalled emotions. That persistent emptiness inside that overflows longing over loss. All those times forgotten that these offhanded long forgotten views behold. Of things you knew well and things you had not. No matter how far you can distance yourself you are still within that same cupboard or closet within that you have said that you have forgot. Your emotions a sea upon which your memories adrift. Your life a flying Dutchman’s folly. One day a year at sea. Those feelings of love and life, youth and beauty, times so far past reborn for the tiniest slice of an instant within your heart. That desire to rejoin again with the sad knowledge of longing and loss could then more perfectly cherish those who remain only as silver and dye on paper. But who remain ever alive. How to recall? How to go back to those errant moments when you could have expressed you love and shared it. A pang in one’s chest. Those errant random fragments and signatures upon a page. The flow of love at its sight. A card and anniversary the handwriting fresh as if just penned. All palpable strangers. The throat tightens. My soul feeling old and wrinkled past my own age. If death be the Dutchman than take me for a ride to visit yet once more these far away lands. For this present vessel within has no crew.
Waiting For The Dutchman