Archaeology of me.

November 21, 2010

The archaeology
of me
is in
the present,
the now.
_______________

The sound of change
in my life
is a
deafening
noise.
_______________

I reached a crossroads
but I knew
which path
to
take.
_______________

I edit myself
to correct
the flaws
I now know
I have.
_______________

I knelt
to pick up the pieces
of my
shattered
pride.
_______________

Future happiness
lay behind
a mask
I couldn’t
remove.
_______________

The momentum
of my life
will carry me forward.
_______________

My retina
now records life
in pixels.
_______________

His bookshelves groaned
under the weight
of
so much
wisdom.
_______________

Stepping over a shadow
of my
former self.
_______________

The geography
of me is in maps and books
of thought and tissue.
_______________

My will is strong
mine alone;
I stand tall.
_______________

In my lungs
I keep snatches
of
your
voice.
_______________

I unclenched
my fist
and reached out
my open hand.
Unafraid.
_______________

It hurts when I breathe
drowning in what I never
got to say to you.
_______________

The string that gently
entwined our hearts became a
rope around my neck.
_______________

Going through
the motions,
Treading
water,
being.
_______________

Your stony silence
was a wall
between us
that I could
never scale.
_______________

I sketched my future
without her
on the back of a
coffee-stained
napkin.
_______________

She needed a shoulder
to cry on,
mine was always dry.
_______________

Dazzled
by the
glare
of your
sincerity.
_______________

Crescendo rising up
inside me:
need to give
no-one to give
it to.
_______________

I am a rock
upon which
you can bask
in life’s
sun.
I am a rock:
your poetry
washes over me
becomes part of me
and me of you.
I am a rock
upon which
your hopes and dreams
may tether
themselves.
I am a rock –
my name is peter.

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2 Responses to “Archaeology of me.”

  1. […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Andi Bob, Peter . Peter said: The string that gently / entwined our hearts became a / rope around my neck. From *Archaeology of me* http://bit.ly/bxCNxN […]

  2. heather said

    scattered map
    peaks and valleys
    trailed by fingertips
    to warm horizons
    each turn
    touched
    folding in
    on worn creases

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