(Continues from Time to Die)
The flyer and I part ways, each drifting
toward a separate destiny, a void
made for us by forgetful time pushing
each of us toward a different spheroid.
Death seizes the things people toss aside
here a flyer torn, there a life denied.
Maybe my story began or ended there. Who can say? The moon’s kissing my face. My soul’s a sail welcoming the wind filling it. I’m an amorphous being billowing as I fly. Am I refuse bandied about a starry night?
I search the moon’s face for answers but if he’s holding his cards close to his cratered face giving me no hint of what he knows. But he knows something. Perhaps my story began in the void his dark side faces. What’s a vacuum to a ghost? I need no air to breathe. I forgot the last time I took a breath. Maybe I never did.
Have I always been a watcher undulating against the darkness? What flag does my soul wave–victory or defeat? There’s no one to tell me because I’m invisible to the Lifers–those poor sots still ambulating around the world.
The wind died dropping me back to terra firma where my translucent feet belong. Strolling along the street, I shove my hands into my pockets and feel a tug. There’s a story somewhere close. Maybe it’s mine. I let it reel me in.
For OctPoWRiMo, 31 poems in 31 days–all part of one story. Watch me do it.
All 31 prompts are pictured below.
With thanks to A Writing Reader for her prompt ‘A Moonlit Kiss.’
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