Another one! This is the first poem I ever wrote, dating back to December of last year. It has previously appeared in the 2011-2012 Edition of Alloy Literary Magazine. Eventually I will get around to posting more current writings, as my style has altered considerably over the months. However, English majors have very little time to read and write (outside of the curriculum that is). Weirdest and truest paradox of all. The fact that my favorite key is the delete might also have something to do with my reluctance…
The Past Tense (Always Seems Imperfect)
by: Miranda Wojciechowski
There is a window in my mind,
an internal world glimpsed
only through hazy reflection.
Light filters, quietly illuminates,
yet obscures what I seek to hide
from myself. Its presence makes my heart ache
to merge completely with its translucence.
Descending into a drowsy, poignant awareness
Of all I believed I lacked.
I often wonder, wistfully
imagining the interior decor
of a purely existential existence.
A tranquil seclusion, bathed
in pastel light. A dark, circular room,
the walls an inextricable whirl
of optic illusion endlessly extending
into a single, penetrating skylight.
Or does it only appear so
from the outside?
I think it would be easy
to be trapped in the mind,
frantically clawing at the smooth walls
of consciousness, until you fall
on your knees, desperately thirsty
for rare drops of sunlight
to drip onto your tongue.
After centuries where time
stood still, to be reminded
by an unknown crack in the stones,
eroded by the caressing of so many hands,
that there was another world once,
from which you tried to escape.
If only you had known then.
Because from this uptilted angle
the world is simply mysterious,
Beautiful, a mote of dust in the light
beckoning towards the buzzing neon.
You are now ready to move upwards
from the shadows on the wall.
This is what it means
To be at peace.