In the Reel

Flicker on the screen,
the film feeds through the machine
in a stuttered flow;
the cinema is starting up the show.
The fluid motions play on the screen
in a serene blur of the artist's dreams:
the comedies, the tragities, the pristine themes,
the flawless and the fantastic dazzled my eyes for decades.

Yet when the falling sun
spreads the shadows to blanket the sky,
I pull the blinds and put on the stop-motion show.
Every picture is something I've once known,
every tiny detail is put before me
as a trial of what was really real.
The vivid depictions of the pictures
bring up whats been pushed into the black:
remembering the things I'll never have back.
Each photo brings a memory
of merth and marriment,
turned soul in my soul
by the cruelty of misplaced time.
I keep watching, keep reliving,
until I feel myself become unreal,
detached from anything outside the reel.
When the show has run its course
I can feel the stings of remorse
replace the taste of sweetness
with bitterness that bites to the bone.