This one’s a bit experimental. I’ll probably nIggle away at it until it feels completely right – it was written quickly; posted before I had time to change my mind – and dedicated to my sister, who is a wonderful artist, and has a WP blog which you can find HERE.
Let’s pretend we can start again;
pull our high-heeled dreams from the rusty trunk of ways we may have lived,
don our festive frocks of freedom,
our pristine raiment of wishes we will fulfill
in our re-invented innocence.
Maybe we can make it real – achieve those ordained successes;
we will reach, and, this time,
silken ribbons in rainbow shades will wrap around our snapping fingers
for us alone to weave.
We’ll leave the agony and angst behind,
forget historic sins which cut us to the core,
ignore our petty weaknesses and flaws,
we’ll make them go away, and think of them no more.
There is still time to believe we are great, and if we believe,
we can make the very grass beneath our feet
dance in time to new music.
Between us, we can paint the sky in colours never seen,
and write our way into the gleaming sunshine.
Please, tell me it’s not too late
to feed the little ones a feast of beauty,
which will carry them, gleaming, into the future,
breaking the tainted chain of feotid failure.
Tell me there is a way to erase those sneaky edits,
scratched throughout our early days
by our itchy father’s leaky pen,
sweep away the debris, and start again.
Thanks for the inspiration, Chris.
©Jane Paterson Basil