THE PALEOCRAT TRIBUNE

Little more than a gaggle of hacks and geeks.

Reflection Upon Broken Glass

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I’m not who I am, at least last time I checked. Looking through rose glasses would be better than the shattered mirror I’m gazing into. Walking away, only to forget what you look like… but you can only forget those things you once knew.

Names blur into faces, and faces meld into a mass of anonymous cameos. Nothing but shadowy figures, each going their own way, wishing only that you remember their name. Like smudged pastel on a weathered canvas, the names and faces have streaked across the horizon of my memory, leaving nothing but a haze.

What is a name? Sounds to go with a face.

Curled in the corner of a circular cell is doing me little good. The memories can’t escape the fog, and the names are stranded on the tip of my tongue. All these faces, all those places, lost within the abyss of an abysmal past. Fight though you want, Jeremiah, they are lost. Love made is love lost, and past lives now clutter the graveyard of things you shouldn’t let go but just can’t remember….

I originally wrote this on MySpace. I may be submitting similar material to the Garfield Lake Review.

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Written by Paleocrat

September 23, 2008 at 10:51 pm

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