Sunday, June 24, 2012


Scraps of memory
Flash by in a broken montage,
A testament to the flawed design of my life…

A red dress meant to accentuate
The ample curves
Of jasmine-scented teenage flesh…

Sneaking out the window
Upon hearing a whistle
From a quintessential bad boy
Whose demons I would never understand…

Sunset bonfires and beer
Leading to sunrise regrets…

Nights of anguish
Trapped in a demon‘s domain,
Praying for a glimmer of salvation…

I will no longer be trapped by my history.
The past may be etched in immutable granite
But my future has yet to be written.
Although I feared that knowledge
Had slipped beyond my grasp,
The power to transform my world
Has always rested in my hands.

~~~~~~  This poem was inspired by a photo prompt from Poetic Bloomings and used this week’s words from The Sunday Whirl.


Anonymous said...

Ah-ha! Two for one. Very clever. I'm gone dry on PB's prompt. I'll let it perk a bit.

Nice poem.

Mary said...

Definitely good not to be trapped by one's history. Accept it? yes. And yes, we do have power to transform our worlds if we try. It is never too late. I enjoyed your write.

brenda w said...

I love your scraps of memory, Mary. You've created a vivid scene that has some familiarity. Your last line is perfect. Brava!

Jules said...

The whole last paragraph - kudos! Just a nice gentle nudge - believe in yourself you are not trapped!
My shorter entry is here (with a link to the continuing story verse at the bottom - I combined SW 62 and a Rosemary Mint word list for the story):

Anonymous said...

I liked it when I read it at PB without realizing it was the Wordle. Good stuff. Too often we are trapped by past decisions that keep us from moving forward.