In puffs of smoke I watch my life float away,
this seemed like a good idea, yesterday.
Now as I watch, tendrils of smoke wispy and grey,
blackened ashes, freed from the flames, carried off,
I wonder why I agreed to this.
Old bills and statements feed the fire,
magazines and junk mail too and that is just fine,
but my notes from college, scribbled essays,
letters and postcards, stories I have written
reminders of my youth, of good times,
the tears well up and I fight the urge to cry.
I rescue a page, the edges curled and broken,
the writing clear and neat yet to be touched,
in distress I hurl it towards the pond,
the water will douse the remaining flames,
but in despair I stand and watch
the words trickle off the page.
And so, I must let the past go,
My words, my world, my life as it was,
offered up in smoke and dust
A chance to start anew, afresh.
A gleaming white page sits before me
waiting for new life in new words.
© Searching for the Light
