Seeing Past the Obvious

It happened, again that moment before sleep,
when ghostly hands snatched
the cord of awareness. Then nothing,
until catapulted into a wall of dull ragged gray.

Crumpled amongst the ruins, inhaling dust,
weary I gazed and saw tattered furniture
abandoned in haste. On one wall a tapestry hung
from ceiling to floor, embroidered with rich colors
of red and gold, dying in muted hues.

I rummaged room to room in wonderment.
Entering the front porch, there nestled
between two white-washed rocking chairs,
was a dilapidated cardboard box.
Curiosity filled my gaze with boyhood trinkets.

Then I saw them, the man, wife and boy,
stand there watching me with benevolence.
Raw emotions yoked my eyes.
The more I cried, the more the child smiled.

Trembling violently with sorrow
sleep surrendered to an awakening notion;
I am that child,
reborn from the ashes of burnt yesterdays.

Copyright © 2004 Tracey L. Hardie