The future is a puzzle.
The present is a maze.
Once the world was simple,
Now it is upside down.
Nothing like it was before.
Truly, I don't understand it anymore.
I am written history.
Stripped of all hiding behind.
Back and forth my pen is weaving,
Erasing the past, rewriting the present.
I am planning to drape the world in newly- minted shreds.
It is all a stricken landscape.
The world cannot be rebuilt. So we create a replica.
With our bloody hands we create an inauthentic world
Pieced together from the shards of a vanished,
Once human civilization.
We glue it together and standing back by the flickering fire,
We embrace.
Remember history as if you lived it yourself.
I am rewriting the past.
With bloody hands I paint a line, a border.
I am choosing my own colors, creating a rainbow.
I am split, I cradle one culture, I am sandwiched between two.
No trail, no footprint, no map, no way home,
No place to set my feet.
No place to set my feet.
Where do I go? History.
I am lost. No excuse, no comfort in the present
I am lost. No excuse, no comfort in the present
If I don't recognize the shards of a broken world,
The humanity.
The humanity.
I do have bloody hands. They don't wash off.
They are stained from the red paint
I drew a border across my identity.
I drew a border across my identity.
Tolerance, tell me about it.
I am rewriting history right now.
I am rewriting history right now.
I am rehearsing. The future is a crazy place.
See you all there!
See you all there!
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.