Afterglow

Why is it that inspiration/ the writing bug bites at 3.30 PM, in the middle of work, when there isn't enough time to finish what is already on hand, and certainly not enough to entertain the whim of creating something all new and shiny?

In any case, this was written in about half an hour flat. In a weird way inspired by the laundry aftermath of the trip to the beach chronicled previously. Not perfect... mixed thematics and unclear flow/ direction. But what the heck, it's candid! Can be perfected later.

As an aside - is stress the mother of creativity? Is creativity all about an escape from the real? And now to the poem...

Afterglow

I wonder often,
Of these uncertain times

When discovery fades to the mundane
And the accolades are done
Of pretensions to knowledge,
Now moderated

When the lights come back
And the credits roll
Of wondrous worlds beyond
Now extinguished

When the audience rises
And the athlete bows
Of the perfectionist demigod
Now humbled

When the fighting is past
And bodies are counted
Of the thrill of victory
Now unfelt

When the kiss is done
And harsh words are spoken
Of flutters in the heart
Now longing

Reality as a sieve
And the sand of our dreams
Perchance clinging
Mostly lost

The twinkle of promise
And purple afterglow
Memories of the future
Impossibilities unrealized

Reality floods me once more
Those strands that caught a dream
And the dark deep spaces
Of things falling through...