Forgottenness and memories- poems

Suspended in forgottenness
I have been having this recurring dream. I fall into a small puddle that grows and grows as I float under the surface, my finger tips barely skimming over the surface break. All of a sudden I am pushed up, gently but quickly, like an inflated beach ball that pops out of the water. I find myself, bone dry in a quiet wood, as described by C.S. Lewis in "The Magician's Nephew." There is no breeze, no movement or life of any kind, but a strange pulsating from the pools of water all around. They are shades of lilac and dusty lavender, tinged rose and a soft chartruse green by the light shining through patient trees. I step into one of the pools, my feet not causing ripples, not feeling wet, the only difference being that the pulsating from the pond pauses and matches my heartbeat. As the beat quickens, a single breeze pulls through the trees from behind me, whispering words in another language. My hair whips forward and covers my eyes, I look down into the pond and my reflection is blurry, a person shaped ripple of lavender and rose colored water... I blink and the reflection starts turning black. I quickly step out of the water and the breeze stops. This is a pond of past in a world between tomorrows, yesterdays and nevers.

Living in a land between worlds
a wood
lost in space and time
lost in heart and responsibility
waiting

Roots skimming along the top soil
trees felled at your feet
by puffs
of winds of change

leaves dance as they nervously wait
unsure
un steady
unrooted
a twilight with no promise of tomorrow.
~ ~ ~

A story for hope, a memory
Whether a murder mystery, science fiction or a romance novel, from Shakespear to the Bible, from oral tradition to Penguin Paperbacks, all story is trying to get us to understand a few simple things: What home is, where home is, how we lost our way, how we get back. In home we find the roots of love, the rounding of our characters, home gives us an element of the plot that makes us the main characters in our own stories. We live lives suspended in what we do not know, acting out while we search for the questions we don't remember how to ask.

when the past is lost
the present falls loosely around your body
like old skin around bones
here, a promise of tomorrow aches
unfamiliar
like trying to remember a flavor
never tasted

creation
return
beyond
a life between parenthesis
blinded

we hide in prose
cower in rhyme
building legos of castles with memories
we hope aren't lies
hoping for a moment
to just experience
a now.

forgetfullness
a power in a loss
the action in the slip
that allows past, present and future
to crumble to grains of sand
too fine for our grip