Wednesday, June 25, 2008

A dream of the past.

A photograph, deliberately blurred around the edges,

A smile, strangely shadowy and detached.

Tinkling peals of laughter accentuated with sadness,

Those soft enquiring eyes of yesteryears caught unaware.

The maiden I could have been, the lady I am not,

A slight breeze brushing past, as the fingers of destiny intervene.

The briefest glimpse of what would have been had I a different lot,

A soft ache of inexplicable longing, not quite pain.

Alas, this fragile reality entraps me,

A soft web of gossamer silk binds me.

Though somehow I regret not,

Traversing this passage of moonlight as Time passes by.

Muse – Who am I?

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