Go Back

In the end
We always go back to what we are
And every time
What we are is different from what we used to be

Sooner or later
The scaffolding of our self-story comes tumbling down
Revealing us, raw and unscripted
If only for a moment

The stories live their life and then they die
The Love becomes the love
Then becomes a love
And then it fades into the dark well of the past

The delusions live their life and then they die
The Hurt becomes a hurt
A hurt becomes a blessing
And then it fades into the dark well of the past

Sooner or later
We always go back to what we are
Raw and unscripted, if only for a moment.

I first published this poem on Luna’s blog. I’ve photographed the poppies in the wheatfield before the pandemic, and before many other things happened. It feels like a different life.

  1. I think there are times as you grow older you ponder on what seems like another life.
    I try to view these things as the veins of our own stories. Running through the core of me.
    I’m not surely we are ever at the truly raw, though there are moments it feels that way.
    Your poem was very heart felt.
    Thank you

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, it feels like another life and, at the same time, it feels very much connected to the present. “The veins of our stories” is well formulated.
      Thanks a lot.

      Like

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