Retrospection In A Kaleidoscope

"Retrospection In A Kaleidoscope"

The past has departed to its ghost of a grave
To litter memories and haunt photos,
To bring back waves of nostalgia to break upon my thoughts
And unleash the white horses to thunder across my memory,
Their hooves smashing my brain to pieces.
But the past has gone.

And now I roam these forests, where trees razor at the sky,
New surroundings that leap up where the old ones die.

My stature has shrunk into insignificance
The grand scheme of things grown.
Leaving me behind.

Scattered photos litter the floor
People, places, things I saw.

New faces swim now before my eyes
While the old ones fade away with no surprise.

I am a grain of sand on a sandy shore!
Small, inconspicuous, one of many.
They appear all the same, though each with its flaw.
And with hindsight I look back,
I look back and see,
See myself,
I look back and see myself saunter along,
Hand in hand with the naive thought that goodness would reign,
But it fell upon deaf ears, returned to haunt me again.
But I don't speak of that.

My seat was atop a river of muted voices
Whose discordant words stung like sea spray,
Pierced my brain like bullets.
It threatened to topple, and did so
Plunging me into the harsh, icy flow.

I have crawled through the valleys, hated every day,
Waded through the mud of sinking confidence
Until the swirling scum swilled around my neck
And choked me.

False faces hide false thoughts
Blank masks, which mock in parodies of truth
And twist the word,
The knife,
In deep.

I had felt the rain, felt it saturate and chill,
Alone in the dark, the cold, the chill.
The trees which harboured had turned their back,
Better to ignore than acknowledged, to answer.
I was one more gnat to swat,
One more dead leaf to be trod into the mire and muck.
Best ignored.

My life in a frieze
Snapshot of my story
No bestseller
Minor note.

Just left with scattered photos, littering the floor,
People, places, things I saw.

No downpour is perpetual, mine no exception,
Left puddles on the floor, broke with my reflection.

The trek to the top is never facile,
As doubts are left to razor at our feet,
To razor at our hands.

I have always wished to be popular,
Though I do not think they'll like me.

Water can be dislodged easily,
To fall upon our heads.
I will tread carefully.

The river dried up, though the scars remained,
Haunting memory, though somewhat untamed.
But I don't speak of that.

Cynical.

A kaleidoscope stuck in retrospection,
Colours swirl into infinity
One thousand pictures in the blink of an eye,
Blue, black, yellow, red
Merge and fade, to let time fly
The future is led by the blind, while the blind are led.