Wake Up

Walking through a burned out antique store
Where wooden beams
Still stood stoutly despite
Being charred and cracked
By the ravages of the inferno
I’m unable to explain
Why abstract paintings hang
With colors beckoning like neon in the desert
Providing peace to the horror wrought upon
The warehouse of leftovers
One canvas in particular commanded my attention
In ways it represented the great fire
With striking reds dancing closely with supple yellows
Bringing a warmth to my skin
Much as sitting on the hearth before a fireplace
During holiday get togethers with family does
Strangely the smell of destruction was not there
Only honeysuckle for some reason
A scent from my youth
When I would walk over a little hill
To a basketball court with plywood backboards
That has long since been replaced weeds and neglect
The beautiful paintings pointed ahead
Like stepping stones leading me
Through the cryptic maze left by the blaze
The expanse of this old store
Seemed to go on forever
Until I reached the frame of a room
With it’s door still closed
For some reason I didn’t just look around
Instead I opened that door
Entering into a small room
With a large, but simple table
On top
A Remington typewriter with
One sheet of paper cued up
For fresh thoughts
So new and so bright
Radiating with potential, begging to be struck
Looking back through where I had just been I saw
The paintings were gone
Lost to guide me back to through the rubble
Forward was the opportunity of uncertainty
Providing the possibility of difference
From the carnage of playing the same game
I chose to step into the room
And shut the door behind me

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