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Stonepoem.com

October 18, 2004 - A poem about Memories, Lyrics

Tangles

Once,
there was a boy
with knotted hands,
unpicking twisted fishing line,
trying not to hear his father’s sigh.
hard for him to figure out
the patterns in the tangle,
scrunching-up
in puzzle
weave.
Next,
he was a youth,
no longer on the bank,
sorting awkward circumstance
learning how to dance,
with stumbling feet against
self-conscious shift of age.
so tough, to choose a stance,
the right or left
of teenage
steps.
Then,
he became a man,
laid out blueprint plans,
tracing wires to broken lights,
fumblimg gasps before the night.
lumpen on the needlewire
with darkness rushing on,
dropping all in race to fix,
an urgent flame to
candlesticks.
Now,
he is old.
balancing on memories,
pinching out the kinks
from thread of final days.
with heavy limbs to sort out pins,
unpicking matted ball of who is -
unraveling reasons why,
now, he understands
his father’s
sigh.

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