Hidden Witnesses

[oldnoname12]

A poem

Oh through archives and relics, of our childhood dreams.
Mostly lost ideas, but not the spirits of who I wanted to be.
I can see it now so clearly, you were the last one to hear me.
But in the dust here that rises.
You know they would hardly recognize us.

You can ask them for forgiveness.
But you can trust that they will stay hidden.
Among the stars above that guide us.
And in the dust that stayed to haunt us.
Peering down with eyes of judgement.
But this attention brings no blushing.
Walking streets that are too narrow.
Tip your hat to the star crossed sparrow.
—————————————————————————————

I’ve found myself falling into a pit of obsession concerning the meaning of menial going ons. Who are these hidden witnesses that watch my struggle? Pushing down with their invisible hands of influence? Will I ever join them?

[O.P.A.L]

as we fall deeper and deeper
we seem to forget the nothings
the no-ones, nobodies
those people seem to pass
begging and pleading
to maybe be remembered through the days long past
as we sit and talk to another nothing
we forget what's important
a feeble memory we will never take back
for we all tell ourselves
of our importance
how we matter
that those people make us seem better
but to forget one
lingers all of which we have forgotten
and we seem to fall
now lost
forgotten
and only a lingering hand can come to be
O.P.A.L.
we once knew them all by name, but even then the people can seem blinded by forgetful thoughts. sometimes a pattern isn't worth figuring out, sometimes you need to just remember.