Elephant in the room but not in your memory.
Now you know that you knew then: bad omen,
you thought, but you were looking to the horizon,
the mirage of promise that said: finally!
Forty days of make-believe and now you’re packing
your bags, grabbing the keys to your heart-caravan.
You drive, counting flowers of smiles by the roadside,
but then, sometimes, it gets too much, and your palms
can only do so much as windshield wipers, so you pull over,
just to take another look at the tokens of memories that you took.
You are a camel when it comes to pain, you can’t help it.
You are a master of emotion: so intense that you’re tired.
You can’t help it. There are acrobats darting in your eyes
all the time. Stop, go, ebb, flow, a see-saw of smile and frown.
How far to go? You’re teetering on a tight-rope of thoughts, humming
a candy-striped song, stranded in the desert with a Trojan horse.
You wonder how you didn’t realise it was a mirage,
but you guess that it’s easy to make-believe when
you’re very thirsty. It’s alright though; you know
you’ll keep swinging in the branches of the tree of hope,
knowing that She wouldn’t keep throwing you balls,
if She wasn’t confident about your juggling skills.
Your favourite ashtray is cracked but not lost.
You thought it the moment it broke: bad omen,
but you chose to let it fade like smoke: No!
This could work! The truth is: She warned you.