The Orange Island Of Memories Fading - Poem by David Lacey
Before my eyes lay concealed the Orange Island of memories fading,
I feel as though I am but a shadow of the shade, wading throughout
The evergreen glades of youthful reminiscence. The Elixir alongside
The Stone rests upon my pillow, the history of science, the revelation
That the scrutiny of our age is but a child born of ancient curiosity.
Through a forest of symbols the child is bound upon his quest,
Resting only when he knows that the time is right to fall and accept
The calling of slumber beyond the thundering of his senses unfiltered.
Reaching out to touch the source divine, is he fated as Icarus?
Step into the moulting cage; know that the Age is upon us.
We are to fly as we are to spread our wings un-sighing.
Open the container that confronts you promising Mystery.
A Bird Wing awaits of a thousand shades each bluer than the deepest sky.
Unheard Sirens sing, lulling to a state of numbed anxiety those that
Allow their hearts to listen in upon such melodies sweet in seduction.
A Marijuana Leaf lay in wait for the transportation you seek,
Back to a time, back to a place when everything seemed so undefined
In space. The deck of Suits reminds us that the Joker is nearly always
Left upon the sidelines being deemed the only card unworthy of the
Others presence, yet the Joker retains a grace unknown to the Kings
And Queens of Crimson Raven fortunes. A Poppy lay there, amongst
The jungle of an Island Orange, embracing the memory and respect
I hold for those courageous souls that died because of their fathers
Unwillingness to Sacrifice the Lamb of Pride in exchange for their lives.
Bike chains belonging to ancient friends,
Cards representing the girls I’ve known and forgotten.
A Birds Claw, stuffed, varnished to a numb perfection.
A Coin cut into the Cork of my first bottle of wine,
Promising upon the word of my elders the wealth and
Experience of Father Time in is undertakings.
Toy Tanks and Figurines echo the days of being laid
Out upon the sand, building Castles against the
Waves that broke upon the shorelines, believing
As only a child can believe that I could turn back the Tides.
Old school records, Keys to unknown doors.
My Fathers Comb, that same plastic that straitened
The hair of a joyful and playful youth.
Prefect badges, Capos, Cigarette Holders imbued
With the craftsmanship of a Master who deemed it sane to
Entwine a Hollow Serpent around his creations form.
A piece of Fabric torn from the dress of a girl named
Guess, Beaded bracelets, Friendship Bands,
Bookmarks, Lighters, Necklaces made up of Amber Jewels.
Badges with which I used to adorn myself.
Each are left upon my shelf, buried upon an Orange Island.
Lists of names echo the circle of jokers that I once
Knew as fellow smokers, alas how the time has flown,
Alas it seems I have grown. These days, in every way
The seasons seem to pass and I remain unknowing,
Unaware of the Summers Joy just as I am unaware
Of Winters Piercing touch, for upon this Island Orange
All that can matter are those things which are now so
Long since gone by that there’s nothing left to do but sigh,
Yet never am I to wish away the day at hand, it’s just at times
It’s wise to journey within the land of our past projections,
So we may reflect and begin to understand why it is we
Feel the way we do at times. I’ll take your hand if you
Take mine, I’ll dance for rain as long as we dance for sunshine
And as long as we spend the time in laughing and as long
As one day I hear the words and you can say ‘My Love, I’m feeling fine.’
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